


Way of the Wolf

by Momma_Time, Pantherlily



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Unilock, Werelock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 07:46:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8970181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Momma_Time/pseuds/Momma_Time, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pantherlily/pseuds/Pantherlily
Summary: While on a case, Sherlock gets bit by a werewolf. The changes, not just physically, may be too much for the young genius and/or John to deal with.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off an RP I had and they have been credited as my co-author and been given approval to post this as a fanfic. It will stay in RP format, so POV's will change.

Sherlock had been advised by Mycroft not to look into the strange killings going on while on holiday from university. Which of course, only made him want to investigate even more. He had figured out where the killer was and what he came across he hadn’t expected. A giant wolf. He had known there was an animal involved but he had thought an owner had been linked somehow. If there was one, that person was nowhere around and he was stuck alone with this canine snarling and growling at him.

Instead of running like a sane person probably would do, Sherlock stood his ground and stared at the wolf in the eyes. What better time than to test that dominance theory? For a while they stared at each other, unblinkingly. Then the wolf lunged forward at him. He was of course no match for its speed or strength. He was bit in the shoulder and then the canine took off, running away.

Shit. It hurt. Sherlock stood up unsteadily. Too bad John wasn’t with him. He was certain his friend would stitch him up. The thought of going to a doctor annoyed him. He was feeling hot, feverish? Had the wolf been diseased? He collapsed to his knees and fell unconscious.

When Sherlock woke back up he was in the country somewhere. He was inside some sort of cottage. He had never been there, that much he was certain. His shoulder had been bandaged up. Who had taken care of him and then apparently kidnapped him? At least today wouldn’t be boring. He investigated the house but found it was empty but well stocked.

So, Sherlock went outside. The property was expansive. Open grassy fields in the front and some woods in the back. He covered every inch and discovered he was effectively in a very large cage. The fence was much taller than he was, a little over three meters in height, had barbed wire at the top and judging by the faint humming noise was also electric. _Damn_.

There was a front gate, but the console to open it was on the other side. Sherlock tried talking to the armed men but they wouldn’t listen to him or were simply ignoring all his questions. What the hell was this? It was quite the set-up, so whomever had taken him had money and resources and maybe even a little clever.

The young genius spent the entire day trying to figure out a way out. Even if he managed to short out the electricity of the fence, there was matter of scaling it and making past the thick, gnarled barbed wire at the top. As night began to get closer, he began feeling odd. He stumbled around in the cottage, a lamp breaking in the process, although he hardly noticed as he held his head and dropped to his knees in pain.

What was happening to him? Had he been drugged somehow? Something in the cottage maybe? Sherlock hadn’t ingested anything while here, so it couldn’t be from that. His skin rippled underneath. Something was very wrong! Had his initial thought been correct? The wolf had infected him with something? Was this some sort of quarantine?

His thoughts became harder to concentrate as the pain in his body intensified and spread through his entire being. Sherlock was not expecting his bones to start contracting and contorting. The noise was horrible and the pain was far worse than anything he had ever felt before. He couldn’t help but scream as his entire anatomy began to shift and change.

Sherlock grew bigger, a little over three and seven tenths meters tall, and much bulkier in body size. He was covered head to foot in black fur. The only thing that remained the same were his eyes, just slightly larger and bit slanted to fit his new form. There was no coherent thought. Only rage, confusion and pain. He thundered through the house, howling his frustrations to the full moon.

The newly turned werewolf made its own exit by crashing through a wall of the cottage. Everything was heightened in this state. His vision, smells, sound and reflexes. Sherlock crashed around on the large legs awkwardly, unused to the size and height. He managed to stay on two legs however, as he bumbled around towards the fence. He lacked any control to shift to a smaller wolf than the monstrosity he was now. He also didn’t even know he _could_.

Sherlock didn’t seem to notice or care that the fence was electrified. It hurt but it didn’t stop him from tearing through it. There were humans waiting for him on the other side with guns. He screamed, which came out a loud and chilling howl, at them before tearing into several and killing them almost instantly. Darts embedded deeply into his skin under the dark fur. He took out a few more of the humans before he stumbled and fell unconscious once more.

John hated it when Sherlock went off without him while he was in class or at work, or in this case, napping now that he had the time to rest. Waking up found him in a Sherlock-less home, eerily silent and feeling like Sherlock had run off to do something stupid without him again. He knew he had been investigating something, but he figured that Sherlock would wake him. Texts to the usual people turned up nothing aside from Sherlock made for some town just outside of the city.

Which led to him grabbing his coat and helmet and heading for the street where he parked his bike. May as well go make sure the bastard hadn’t gotten himself shot, or gutted if the murders he’d been looking into were anything to go by. It took little time for him to get it running and leave the city, doing his best to get there quickly because lord only knew it wouldn’t take too long for something to go wrong.

But going there left him still without a Sherlock. No one that had seen him knew where he went, outside of “he went that way”. A wild goose chase. That’s what this felt like.

_[TEXT: The Government] I’m trying to find your brother but I’ve lost him. Have you seen him?_

He didn’t get a reply, which was odd because usually when he went looking for Sherlock, Mycroft was willing to give him the information without question for the sake of having someone there to keep Sherlock out of trouble…or get him out of it. Calling every contact John could remember Sherlock having, he eventually found someone say that they’d seem him being picked up by government vehicles and then gave him an idea of where they believed that he was being taken.

Which is how he found himself in the middle of nowhere—not really—the next day, toeing the line of government grounds in an effort to find Sherlock. No doubt Mycroft would soon figure out he was snooping around in the area and he’d have someone come along to collect him, but for now, he was determined to find his idiot friend and get him out of whatever mess he’d found himself in. With so many acres to cover, John didn’t even know where to begin. The facility and the surrounding area took up kilometers of space and he didn’t have all day to search every inch of it.

He knew he couldn’t go anywhere near the main facility, they’d arrest him in no time flat and John doubted Mycroft would help him get out in a timely manner, not if he’d already ignored John’s text about Sherlock. And speaking of the devil, there was a text from him now. Like hell he was going to leave and let him handle it. John wanted to find Sherlock, not wait around while Mycroft did whatever the hell it was he did.

It wasn’t until the next day sometime, that Sherlock woke up. He was back at the cottage, which was still a mess from…whatever the hell had happened to him last night. It couldn’t have been real but there were tufts of thick black fur strewn around that said otherwise. Most of what he remember was bits and pieces and blurry. Nothing concrete.

The fence! Sherlock ran out of the cottage, not even bothering to pull on a robe over his naked form. He just wanted out of this hell hole, clothes could come later. Except when he got to the part where he was certain he had broken free last night, it was already fixed and running again. Damn it! He would have pounded the chain links if it wouldn’t electrocute him.

Movement on the other side caught his attention almost immediately. “You bastards! Let me out of here!” He yelled at whoever was on the other side, without a care about modesty. He assumed whoever was out there were the same people in charge of the gate and he was ready to give them an earful, even if they just ignored him again.

There were three more warnings on his phone by the time he heard Sherlock shouting at someone. He’d figured that the closer he got, the more texts he would get from Mycroft, like the Hot/Cold game. The theory proved true as he slowly stepped out from behind the tree line, only to stop short when he found a very naked Sherlock on the other side of a barbed fence…nope, scratch that. It was a live one, he determined when he finally came close enough to hear a low hum.

“Sherlock? What…are you doing out here and why the hell are you naked?” He stopped when he was a safe distance from the fence while still being close enough to not have to shout at his friend. Another buzz from his pocket had him huffing and pulling it out. ”‘I warned you.’ What’s that supposed to mean?” Shaking his head, John decided to ignore it for now and just focus on getting Sherlock out of there. "Tell me how to get you out.”

John? Sherlock frowned in confusion but it didn’t come as that big of surprise that his friend had tracked him down somehow. “I’m not sure what happened…I woke up and I was here. I don’t know how long now. I’ve lost consciousness twice…” He trailed off as began to try and piece together everything that had happened.

Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. Sherlock frowned but it just _couldn’t_ be. Werewolves didn’t exist. That was ridiculous but after everything that had happened, how could he ignore the danger he would put John in. “Just get out of here. You won’t do me any good anyway. You aren’t clever enough to get around my brother’s men, even under my direction. You would just do it wrong.”

Those words… How could he…? Sherlock turned his back to John. He couldn’t let it show that he didn’t mean those words at all. But…maybe Mycroft was right to keep him in here. Screaming was loudly heard in his head. By the gods, he had killed a lot of people last night hadn’t he? He was a monster now. This was a lot to take in. Guilt was not something he had felt before, he was pretty sure…not like this at least. His usual confidence and straight posture sagged as reality began to set in.


	2. Chapter 2

He’d been having black outs? A blow to the head maybe? Or perhaps he had gone too long without eating again and his sugar kept crashing…no. He would look worse if that were the case. John’s worried expression fell into something of confusion. “Well not everyone is as brilliant as you and your brother but at least give me a little credit. I found you, didn’t I?” He wasn’t an idiot, John knew that, but he also wasn’t Sherlock. He knew he wasn’t a genius but he thought Sherlock had at least a little more faith in him than that. Where had it come from?

“So then how do you plan to get out of here with a live fence with barbed wire and naked as the day you were born?” John was trying to force out any hurt or anger in his words, knowing that Sherlock wouldn’t lash out like that without a reason…would he? He knew it happened with other people but usually Sherlock wasn’t this rude to him. Even still…the lack of faith in his intelligence was hurtful.

Sherlock couldn’t turn around face John, not like this. And it had nothing to do with the fact he had no clothes on or modesty. He couldn’t bear to see the hurt expression on his friend’s face for his stupid, careless and thoughtless words. “I said leave me alone!” He stalked away from the fence, shivering a bit as his body began to register the cold.

Would there be clothes for him back in the cottage? His others had been completely torn to shreds from the frightening and painful transformation. For once he _didn’t_ want to think. Would he turn again tonight? The moon would still be full, wouldn’t it? He sighed at the thought. Maybe he could restrain himself this time. His moral compass had never exactly pointed north but he didn’t want to just kill more people like that either.

Sherlock moved back into the cottage, slamming the door behind him to help relieve the anger and confusion he was feeling. He went to the room with a bed and looked in the closet. There were several suits, perfectly tailored to his height and skinny build. Should he even bother? He let out a frustrated growl. Had that been more feral than usual, or was he just imagining it? He crawled into the safety and warmth of the covers. Instead of trying to figure out what was wrong and fix the problem like normal, he wallowed in his self-pity and waited for what he assumed the inevitable would be. Or maybe he would wake up and this had just all been on horrid nightmare.

John didn’t want to believe that he was hearing this. There were times Sherlock got irritable and snapped at people but to just…He didn’t like this. He didn’t like Sherlock in such a predicament but refusing his help with such spiteful words? What was wrong?

He watched him leave until he could no longer see him before turning and heading back for the woods. He should go find a place to stay that night, and then go get lunch. Or was it dinner time? Food wasn’t something he actually wanted right now.

A text came in after a few minutes with a very smug—or John imagined it to be smug—message from Mycroft. “I told you to leave.” He had half a mind to shout something at Mycroft, figuring he was bound to get the audio of it eventually, and let him have it for being an arse and keeping his brother trapped behind a fence. Why couldn’t he just get him out? Surely he had that power.

_[TEXT: The Government] Why have you left your brother trapped behind a fence, naked?_

He wondered if maybe there was a falling out between them or something and that this was Mycroft’s way of getting back at Sherlock for something. He wouldn’t put it passed him.

_‘Go home’._

“Like hell I’m going home when you’ve got my friend stuck behind a live fence without any clothes.” Huffing, John headed back to the village near the base, looking for food and a place to sleep. He couldn’t get Sherlock’s words out of his head. Why would he even say that? Had John done something wrong? He couldn’t think of anything he had done to deserve that…

And now it was one more echo that would nag at him at inconvenient times like all of the other things that had been said to him over the years. Some came from his peers, a lot came from his family. Nothing had been from Sherlock.

It pissed him off that Sherlock would say it, knowing better. Enough that once he got food in his belly and his things put into his room that he decided to head back to go shout at him through the fence. He planned to take a small torch that he kept in case something happened at night while he was on his bike. One never knew if something would go wrong and a repair would have to be made. John figured it would be fine to use to help him get back to the road when the sun went down.

Sherlock was only slightly more prepared for the change this time, but it still hurt. He howled to the moon as he was forced to transform into a monster again. Once he was the massive wolf again, he went about destroying everything in his path. He made another hole in the wall of the cottage he was basically confined to.

This time, there was slightly more self-control as he approached the gate. Intelligent eyes gazed at the heavily armed men on the other side. Sherlock gave them a wolfish grin before he tore through the electric fence, but he used the live wires to his advantage and electrocuted several of the men before the power was cut abruptly.

A snarl was released, as he easily kicked over the jeep that still had people inside. This time they couldn’t control or stop him, so they began running and screaming away from the terror that threatened to eat or simply kill them. Sherlock smirked smugly to himself and began to make his own path, shoving some of the smaller trees out of his way.

Maybe he should have taken a nap before he came. Searching frantically for his friend for a day and a half without much time to stop and rest without tossing and turning the whole time was catching up on him. John knew he was in no danger of falling asleep right here, but it did slow him down a little. It didn’t help that the small torch didn’t cover much ground ahead of him and he kept stumbling around in the dark.

Which way had he gone earlier again? John pulled out his mobile and pulled up a map of the area and tried to remember where the fence had been. Right…there. There. He was maybe two kilometers at most? That wasn’t so bad…in the daytime when he could see where he was going without too much trouble.

It wasn’t until he heard screaming that he took off, trying to keep his feet up and not stumble. That came from the direction of the fence and…he hoped Sherlock was okay. Maybe the threat was outside of the fence and couldn’t get to him? That would be great…but that would leave him as a sitting duck with nothing more than a torch and a pocket knife. But Sherlock was the one he should be worried about, not so much the threat itself. Get Sherlock out of danger and then he could worry about it.

Sherlock perked up when he heard something coming towards him. He slowed his pace, crouching a bit so his lumbering form could pounce whomever was dumb enough to come anywhere near his general direction. He was about to attack the human when he caught a whiff of a very familiar scent.

His eyes narrowed and stared down at the human, that he towered over in his werewolf form. Sherlock inhaled deeply, taking in the scent again. Something tugged at his feral mind, some sort of recognition. One of his massive paws, with talon like claws, reached out to pick the human up so he could get a better look at the furless one.

Before a firm grip could be given, something new happened. The touch and scent of the familiar human triggered another change in him. Sherlock shrank down to all fours, still a black furred wolf. He was still larger than a regular wolf but he wasn’t near the size he had been in his were form. He yipped at John, his long shaggy tail wagging in recognition.

John crashed through the brush only to freeze in his tracks. Heavy breathing, very large…furry? He turned his head to look at the beast and yelped, stumbling back a few steps to try and clear the paw coming at him. He was terrified and rightly so, but it was the eyes that kept him from running.

Then the paw finally caught him but it made no move to rip him to shreds, for which he was grateful, but that still didn’t help him get the hell out of there and far from the monster who seemed to…recognize him? Impossible. It was just his mind playing tricks on him or something. Well, that’s what he told himself until the monster shrunk a little, changing right in front of him into something smaller.

And happy to see him apparently. Nervously, he reached a hand out towards it, in a fist for the wolf to sniff. It had gone from monster to wolf at the sight of him and hadn’t attacked, so John hoped it was safe to do this.

Instead of sniffing the hand offered to him, Sherlock licked it. His happiness was short lived when he heard more people coming their way. _No one_ was going to touch _his_ human. He turned around, growling low in his throat. His ears were pressed flat against his head, teeth bared as Mycroft’s men came closer to their location.

The wolf made sure John was behind him, moving positions if he had to. There were more men than had been at the fence. Sherlock wasted no time jumping at the throat of the idiot who had dared to get closest to him. He ripped it out with a feral viciousness that had been seen in his were form just moments ago. The man didn’t even have time to scream, all that came out was a gurgle as blood sprayed out in an arch but mostly into his maw. The taste was wonderful, which should have abhorred him, but right now he was acting on pure instinct.

This time, Sherlock wasn’t protecting himself but John. _His_ human. He took down five more people before he succumbed to the tranquilizer darts that littered his bulky frame. When he finally fell unconscious, he shifted back to his human form, naked yet again.

When the threat had been neutralized, the remaining squad trained their guns on John next.

It liked him apparently…John smiled, sitting comfortably so he could move his hand to pet him and scratch behind his ears. But those eyes. He knew those. He did know those. “Sherlock…”

At the sounds of people coming, his hand stilled as he jerked his head up. When the guards moved into view, tranquilizer guns aimed at them, he stiffened and raised his hands. “Um…wait, Sherlock no!”

He didn’t dare try to pull Sherlock away, knowing that even if a dog (or wolf in their case) knew you well and cared, getting in the way could only get you hurt by the very dog trying to keep you safe. John’s hands slapped over his mouth to bite back a sound of shock and fear. John didn’t mind blood and things; it had never bothered him before and he supposed that would be a good trait to have as a doctor…but to see his friend mauling human beings, humans just doing their job of protecting everyone, including the friend, it made him sick.

Sherlock didn’t down many, it would have been impossible to stop all of them, especially as they were all firing until he either got them or he fell. The last one Sherlock finished off misfired at the first blow and nabbed John in the forearm, the one covering his throat. Lucky, he guessed, but he didn’t get it out quickly enough to stop all of it, but what little did get him made him nauseated (or maybe that was the smell and sight of the carnage) and dizzy.

John tried to crawl back from the guns now posed at him until his back met a bush behind him. How many were there? Five…? No…eight… No. Stop moving and wiggling! He wound up falling back against the bush as it left his mind buzzing and everything fading in and out. No. Nononono. Don’t. Don’t do it.

It was weird, sort of like being in a dream state, or just before anesthesia knocked you out before surgery. Count back from one hundred. And between one hundred and eighty-two, things get a little weird before lights out. John would have said that that was what it was like. Or he would have had two—four?—of the guards not hauled him to his feet and started dragging him to who knows where. Where ever it was, lack of sleep and being drugged knocked him out before he could get there.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock woke with a jolt this time, once the drugs wore off enough for him to be roused from the induced slumber. _John_! He looked around frantically, his mind abuzz at the moment. He needed to make sure his friend was okay. He didn’t remember everything like last time, but he remembered enough. _Too_ much of it. He didn’t have any control when he changed into that monster and only slightly more as the wolf.

Shivering, Sherlock grabbed the sheets for some warmth. He would have to suffer through another full moon but he wasn’t worried about that right now. He was worried about John. He had to find his friend and make sure he was okay. He paused in his search as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Blood was still smeared around his mouth and on his body.

Shower later. His friend first. “John?” Sherlock called out, as he looked around the practically destroyed cottage by now. He was scared, a feeling that didn’t often grip him. He didn’t even know if the blond was there with him.

Sherlock needed to know John was okay but if his friend refused to talk to him after seeing him for the monster he was now, he could hardly blame him. Maybe he would just stay here forever isolated from the rest of the world. Would he ever be in control when he transformed?

At least they had been nice about lying him down. They’d set him on a shredded couch and left him there. They figured the werewolf wouldn’t do anything to him if he had been buddy-buddy with him before, even if he did turn back before the medicine wore off.

And when it did, he wishes it hadn’t. He had a nasty migraine now, and he felt hungover. Even the voice calling around for him hurt and he just curled up more tightly around himself. Really leaving him, or even Sherlock, uncovered with destroyed walls had been a little cruel and he wondered if that contributed to his headache through freezing and drying out his sinuses. Actually, he wondered if that would give him a nosebleed later.

Too much thinking. It wasn’t helping his head. When he finally did force his eyes open, he blinked around blearily before shutting his eyes again with a groan. Nope. He didn’t like the light right now. “Whoever is making all of that racket, shhhhhh,” he grumbled. Ow. No. His own voice was too loud. Loud. Shouting. Yelling. Pain. Licking.

John bolted upright, gasping out Sherlock’s name. Shit. Shit. Shit. Was he okay? Wait no, ow. The pounding in his head started up again and nausea decided to join in; this time, he was certain the nausea was from the memory. Ignore it and find Sherlock. The voice. That was Sherlock’s voice. “Sh-sherlock? ‘M in here.”

Sherlock tripped over the sheet wrapped around him in his haste to reach John. He fell with a crash, but got up quickly as he ignored any superficial wounds he might have endured. He didn’t bother to grab the sheet he had wrapped around him before. When he saw his friend _safe_ , he managed to relax a little.

His gaze couldn’t meet John’s. “You…saw…that _thing_ I was…what I did…” He trailed off. Guilt was a new one for him. His morals had never been nearly as sound as his friend’s but he had never just killed people and certainly not like _that_. “You need to get out of here before I change again. Please, I can’t control it. I can’t control _him._ ”

Sherlock didn’t consider that part of him as himself. It was the only way he could even begin to reconcile what he had done in his werewolf form. Otherwise it was going to destroy him, if he didn’t find a way to detach himself from the situation. He had never been so desperate in his life and he managed to finally meet his friend’s gaze. “Please John, this one time don’t argue with me. Just get the hell away from me. As far as you can…”

This would be his second look at all that was Sherlock and at this rate, he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. That was easily ignored for the blood that covered him, the blood from the people that Sherlock had killed. How many were there again? Six? He didn’t know if there were any more before all of this mess. His first expression was one of fear, fear at the reminder of what Sherlock had done. But then sense kicked in, the sense that told him that it wasn’t completely Sherlock’s fault. He seemed to have control issues.

Swallowing down the bile that had been threatening to creep up his throat, John slowly pushed himself to his feet and went into what remained of the kitchen. No dishrags that were not covered in glass or anything. So he found a curtain and sliced a bit off before running water over it. He said nothing through all of this, not even as he went back to stand in front of Sherlock. The fear was back, just a hint, but it was mostly for the well-being of his friend.

Reaching up, John slowly began wiping the blood from Sherlock’s face, his neck, chest and it just seemed to be everywhere. He huffed out a small laugh and shook his head. “I think I’d get more off of you if I just tossed you into a pool…although you might look like a mangy mutt when you get out.”

When he removed everything that he could, he averted his eyes a moment but the hand holding the makeshift rag hadn’t left Sherlock’s neck. How had this happened to Sherlock? He’d gone off looking for a murderer…that had victims that looked like an animal had been unleashed on them. Realization dawned on him and he looked back up at Sherlock, something pained in his expression.

“The murderer was a werewolf…he or she…whoever they were, got you didn’t they?” See? He had picked up a few things while being around Sherlock. And now that he could see where Sherlock had been messily patched up. “Oh Sherlock…”

This was why he didn’t like Sherlock going off without him. It almost always ended with Sherlock coming out with some wound or another. Most were harmless, sure, but this one? This one was going to ruin Sherlock’s life. John couldn’t imagine the guilt; he wasn’t sure if Sherlock would ever talk about it either and this would haunt the man for the rest of his life. “Why didn’t you attack me last night Sherlock? And why did you attack them?”

The way John looked at him, made Sherlock look away again. He couldn’t stand that look. He tracked his friend’s movement by sound, his sense of hearing still better but not as good when in his wolf or were form. He almost flinched away from the touch. Not because he thought he was going to be struck but because he didn’t want to taint the blond with whatever monster resided inside him now.

Sherlock kept his head bow, staring at their feet in silence. He did manage a small smile as he listened to John piece things together. His friend was anything but ordinary in his eyes. He had given up on telling the blond to go. It was clear John wasn’t going anywhere.

The questions triggered memories from last night that he frantically tried to make stop. “I…don’t know…I think…I was trying to protect you…” Sherlock trailed off, hating how uncertain his voice sounded at the moment. “I recognized you somehow, your scent I think. I don’t know how or why I changed to that smaller wolf.”

“How…how many people did kill this time?” Sherlock slowly lifted his head to look at John, his eyes dulled and almost empty. He was trying hard to compartmentalize everything, but it had all come at him so suddenly and fast. Usually, he would welcome such a challenge but right now he was struggling just to stay afloat and not drown in a torrent of emotions he was usually able to ignore.

 


	4. Chapter 4

John smiled softly and shook his head. “Even as a furball, you’re looking after me…they still shot me too in the end though. Accident but they had turned their guns on me after it started kicking in. I remember them training their tranqs at me but that’s about it.” Sherlock didn’t need to know it almost got him in the throat…or that it happened because Sherlock jumped the guy. “You seemed friendly enough I guess. I mean, you scared the hell out of me when we first saw each other but you didn’t automatically lunge for me. You ah, reached out and then kinda went small and shaggy. Definitely like the furball look.”

It was a weak attempt to get Sherlock smiling again. Give him anger, hatred, vile behavior, but don’t give him a Sherlock that looked this sad and broken. He didn’t know how to fix that. Dropping the scrap of cloth to the ground, John reached up and took Sherlock’s face in his hands and rubbing still slightly pink stained cheeks with his thumbs. “What matters right now is that so long as they don’t come near and I can manage to keep you with me, no one else has to get hurt.”

His hands fell from Sherlock’s face only to reach around and pull the man too him. A hug. They both needed one right now; Sherlock needed one because his day has obviously been shit and John needed it because he needed his Sherlock back. “We’ll figure something out…don’t worry Sherlock.”

Sherlock did not enjoy being referred to as a furball but didn’t bother to say anything about it. It was the least of his worries right now. He tried to smile for John but it faltered and he averted his gaze once more when his friend took his face in his hands.

“What if…this time when I change…I don’t stop and hurt…worse kill you too?” Sherlock would never be able to live with himself if he hurt John. He returned the hug tightly, almost desperately so, as if letting go would mean losing his friend forever. Eventually he did relinquish the blond. “If you insist on staying then perhaps we should find a way to restrain me…”

A fierce determination washed over him as an idea popped in his head. “John, get me that laptop over there and start the kettle. I need to do some research.” It seemed ridiculous that he would be looking up werewolves but he needed to learn as much as he could before the night ended. Maybe find out some weaknesses that might help keep him restrained or at least at bay when he turned into a monster again.

“You were on a rampage last night and you calmed long enough to change a little and come with nothing but friendliness towards me, and then, like you think you may have done, you tried to keep me safe. I think we’ll be fine…” After John passed him the laptop, he retrieved the blanket and wrapped it over his shoulders. “But if you wish to have a backup plan, I’m all ears.”

It would give him peace of mind, and Sherlock needed that right now. John did too, but he wouldn’t admit it to his friend, worried that it would upset him to know that he was still scared of him, just a little. He couldn’t just erase that memory…

“Sherlock? I’m going to see if there’s any usable food here. If not, I’ll have to go to the gate and see if I can get them to fetch something…or text Mycroft, although he’s been an arse these last few days…do you want anything?”

“I know I was,” he snapped. Sherlock sighed right after, a hand running over his face. He should just apologize but no such thing came out of his mouth. “It’s…been a long last couple of days,” he muttered instead. It was an attempt at one, even if it didn’t sound like it at all. He pulled the blanket around him a little tighter as he began to start up the laptop.

“There is food. Kitchen was stocked the first night I was here, when I checked. It still should be, I imagine.” Had he torn up the kitchen? Sherlock wasn’t sure. Maybe there was nothing now. The men didn’t seem keen on cleaning up the place after he tore it apart. Probably waiting for the full moon phase to pass. It made the most sense.

“Just tea and biscuits for me right now, please. I need to think.” Sherlock was actually quite hungry, despite the people he had devoured while in werewolf form. Though he really didn’t want to think about it. Did changing do something weird to his metabolism? Probably. There was so much he didn’t know and understand, which he abhorred. Knowing anything and everything was important to him.

John tensed after a quick flinch. No. Relax. He had to remember that Sherlock was under a lot of stress and that he was probably scared…and possibly feeling incredibly guilty. “It’s okay… I understand Sherlock.”

He wandered back into the kitchen and started looking for what they could use. There was more than he thought they would have. He started the water and went to working cutting up cheddar cheese slices, finding crackers, and what looked to be lunch meat. He grabbed the things Sherlock had asked for while he was at it and once he had the tea made, John brought it out, setting Sherlock’s tea next to him and John’s went on the other. He plopped down on a seat next to him with the tray of food on the seat beside them. He hoped that having the food by Sherlock would mean he might eat more than he’d asked for without thinking.

The flinch didn’t go unnoticed. Christ, John was scared of him. He was nothing but a monster and not even his best friend could see past that. Sherlock stared at the screen in front of him a moment before he forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He tried a general search first, weeding through websites that just seemed obsessed with lore and not facts.

It was hard to stay on track, when he was constantly worrying about turning on John any moment. His friend knew what he was. Had seen him… He sighed, fingers coming up to rub at his temples. He mumbled a thanks when the tea and food was brought to him but he didn’t touch either of them, despite the hunger he was feeling. He couldn’t look at John at all, not wanting to see that look again. The word ‘monster’ just repeated in his head.

“I think…I’m just going to lay down for a while…” Sherlock got up off the couch, setting the laptop on the coffee table. Emotions were getting in the way of his focus and he wasn’t quite sure how to deal with it. He pulled the sheet around him tightly and collapsed onto the bed, as he tried desperately to turn his mind off.

It was only when he saw Sherlock’s expression as he worked, and when he stood to leave, that John realized how bad it really was in his head right then. Chaos, pain, confusion, a jumble, and John couldn’t imagine…

He waited a few minutes, nibbling on the cheese and crackers a little while longer before getting up and following. John slipped in quietly and removed his shoes before climbing onto the bed beside the bundled lump; he sat with his back against the headboard and, without another word, began to lightly run his fingers through Sherlock’s hair. He had thought of actually rubbing his head, but John feared that Sherlock would take it as an insult against what he was now. “Tell me what I can do to help, Sherlock,” he said softly. “Do you want me to look things up while you rest?”

Sherlock was surprised John had come into the bedroom after him. Wasn’t his friend afraid to be around him? He had seen the looks he had been given… He subconsciously leaned into the touch and was mortified when a small whine escaped his lips. He jerked away then, so violently that he threw himself off the bed in the process and landed on his side with a thud.

Even when human he still had… _those_ _traits_ and it bothered him. Sherlock just stayed on the floor, tangled up in the sheets but not bothering to right them or his body. “Finding out what can kill me and put me out of my misery would be a nice start.” He didn’t want to change again. It hurt and God, if John was around and looked at him like the monster he was one more time…

He was in desperate need of help and the only friend he had didn’t even really want to be near him. Sherlock continued laying on his side, staring at the legs of the nightstand next to the bed. He was muttering numbers under his breath as he began to count the number of stains on the fake, polished wooden surface. It was mindless, something he would abhor usually but maybe it would be enough to stop the torrent of thoughts that threatened to consume him.

“I refuse to get my hands on a gun and silver bullets to kill my best friend. ’M sorry but even if you came at me, I probably couldn’t do it.” John tipped over onto his side so he could lie down and watch his ridiculous friend in a bundled heap on the floor.

“Do I need to come down there with you? You know I will if you ask.” He would do almost anything Sherlock asked. Almost. There were still lines he wouldn’t dare cross, mostly for their own safety…and possibly for the sanity of himself and Mycroft.

Why did he get the feeling Sherlock didn’t want him to be around him? It wasn’t even one of those things that John was having to put up with because Sherlock was in a mood; this was something new and something he really didn’t want Sherlock to be alone in.

“You know I’m not going anywhere, right? Even if I wanted to leave this place, I couldn’t leave you here by yourself. I mean, I really like having you around. You were miserable enough before and…I don’t want you alone for that if I can help it, alright?” John was nervous, sure, but he wanted to believe in Sherlock’s control over himself when like that. He’d only had the one encounter with Sherlock but John hoped it would be enough to give him an idea of what to expect. So long as it didn’t involve tranquilizers again…

John carefully reached down and made light, little jabs at his side and arm. He didn’t want him really pissed off, but any reaction other than this irritable despair was an improvement. “You’re the genius of the pair of us, do you have any other ideas besides a painful death? I kind of like my best friend alive and kicking, even when he’s being an arsehole and it’s my arse he’s kicking.”

Sherlock still couldn’t look at John. “I…I know…” That’s what terrified him. That he could just come at his friend without a thought and ever loyal, John would just let happen. He was a horrid friend and now he was a monster. He didn’t deserve the man at his side right now.

For several minutes, Sherlock just laid on the floor in silence. “Come lay with me?” God, he was so pathetic right now. He had never wanted John to see him like this… “Maybe…run your hand through my hair again…” He had actually liked it, despite his initial reaction to it. It had felt nice and he wanted to feel it again. Selfish, as usual but he couldn’t help it.

Truthfully, he didn’t want John to leave. Definitely selfish. Sherlock sighed at his thoughts. He just wanted to make them stop, if only for a moment. He curled up on the floor, finally shifting his position and drawing the blanket around him for some warmth.

Smiling softly, John nodded and crawled down to the floor to lie beside him. He had contemplated dragging the bundled genius back onto the bed, but John figured that it was better to meet Sherlock where he was at. Getting comfortable on the floor, however, would be a struggle and he didn’t bother trying; he simply flipped onto his back and gently tugged his swaddled friend to him until he had Sherlock’s head on his chest. It made it easier to reach him and John was able to wrap his arms around him if need be.

John was gentle, finger combing the tangles out of Sherlock’s hair so that it would be easier to play in it…and possibly sneak in a head rub. Once he was sure he wouldn’t find tangles, John began to press down against Sherlock’s scalp. It was long runs, one side to the other, and eventually, he moved to small strokes and swirls.

“Everything will be fine Sherlock. You’ll be okay and so will I…” But that didn’t mean he wasn’t scared. What sane person would not be afraid of a beast from fairy tales attacking them? John wanted this to work, both for the sake of Sherlock’s well-being, knowing that he wasn’t really that dangerous, and for his own health. Either he’d die or he would be like Sherlock if Sherlock attacked him.

That brought up a funny image. Sherlock doing the job he loved with John hot on his heels, the both of them on a chase through the streets in that form. He imagined that they wouldn’t have too much trouble chasing someone down if they ever have to. But he wouldn’t tell Sherlock about John being changed for that ridiculous image; that would just cause greater upset. And all of this to say, John trusted him. He wanted to trust Sherlock to beat back his monstrous nature. “I know we’ll be okay Sherlock.”

Sherlock closed his eyes, enjoying the fingers in his hair. It was helping to calm him down and he’d be lying to himself if he'd said he didn’t enjoy being close to John like this. He wanted to believe everything would be fine. He was usually so in control of…everything, really and now, it felt like he had none at all.

So, he just laid there and enjoyed the feeling of the hand in his hair. Sherlock tried not to make noises of contentment but they slipped out from time to time anyway. Eventually, he rolled over to cuddle into John. He buried his nose into the chest, letting out a small whine. Christ, he was even starting to act like a dog now even when he wasn’t a monster or a wolf. Hopefully the blond wouldn’t laugh at him for it. He was already feeling insecure as it was.

“If you insist on staying…will you at least…not be there when I change tonight?” Sherlock didn’t want John to watch that. It was horrible for him as he screamed and howled in pain and rage. In some ways, it was even worse than being the actual monster itself. He pulled away to look up at his friend, a worried frown on his face.

John smiled at the small, contented whines, finding it to be endearing and…okay, yeah, don’t tell Sherlock he was thinking that about him. It only encouraged him to keep going with one hand while wrapping his arm around him with the other. He really couldn’t help it, John liked this and if Sherlock was going to curl up on him, John figured he should take advantage of the closeness.

He thought on the question, staring up at the ceiling above and counting spots and things. He wanted to be there for him, but Sherlock had his reasons for asking John not to be around for that. “Would you like me to wait outside instead? I’ll be nearby if you need me but…still close.” John didn’t want to leave him at all. Seeing his friend change would be scary, seeing him the night before was scary; he didn’t really want to watch. “I’m not leaving this place, but I’ll go a short distance away. You’ll be able to find me, right? Will you be of the mind to look?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in answering the first question. “I’ll be able to smell you, I think. It is how I recognized you last time, I’m pretty sure. Whatever you hear…just stay outside.” Sherlock was pretty sure that even if his friend didn’t see him change, he would still hear those horrible noises that he would be making.

Maybe…he would try to control the change this time. Would it make the transformation less horrible? Perhaps if he concentrated on something that calmed him. Like John and those wonderful hands in his hair. He let out whine and began butting his head at the hands, losing himself in his thoughts.

Sherlock blinked when he realized just exactly what he was doing. He cleared his throat and buried his face into John’s chest again because he was pretty sure his face was flushed and he definitely didn’t want his friend seeing that. He couldn’t recall a time he had _ever_ blushed before and the thought made him groan.

“I’ll let you find me rather than me coming to look for you,” he promised. John shifted a little and raised up to nuzzle him, “Oi, don’t worry about what you do. I really don’t mind and you’re welcome to do as you wish…although don’t be surprised if you start nuzzling against me somewhere and I wind up giggling.”

He reached up again and rubbed a little harder just behind his ear and then down his neck before beginning to rub down his shoulders. “Do what you need to Sherlock, no judgement from me…aside from an occasional grin.”

Sherlock relaxed when he heard that. “Thank you.” How could he _not_ be embarrassed by his ridiculous behavior? “I’m not a dog,” he pouted but even as he finished speaking he was burying his face back into John’s chest and closing his eyes at the feeling of the scratching behind his ear. He gave a small groan of satisfaction at the feeling.

After laying there for a long time, Sherlock finally got up off the floor. He still had research to do and he was very hungry. The tea was probably cold by now. “John, make me another cuppa.” He dragged the sheet behind him as he went back to the couch and take a look at the results of his first search.

“Give a man a head rub and he just leaves you there on the floor the moment he’s done with you. Are you sure you’re not some cat thing? Or are you finally tapping into the jerk one night stand stereotype?” he joked, pushing himself up and then trying to get to his feet. Something about lying on the floor…if that’s what getting old would feel like when the time came, he wanted no part of that backache… He was fit as a fiddle and it was like everything just shifts down because of gravity. And no, he didn’t groan like an old man.

“Are you going to at least _try_ to eat the cheese and crackers and ham I set out or is it all for me?” John grabbed his shoes on his way out, planning on putting them on the moment he could. With what small bits of debris was still around, he was worried about stepping on something. The last thing he needed was something going through his foot and not being able to go to the doctor for shots because of this mess.

It only took a few minutes before John joined him with his shoes on, tea in hand, and a refill of snacks. “So are you going to be eating more because of this or…? Because I don’t really have anything to give you if you’re hungry later.” And he’d rather not have Sherlock go hunting for guards again.

Sherlock was not amused with the teasing and tried to ignore it as he stared at the screen. “I can eat later,” he muttered and waved a dismissive hand at the thought. Despite being quite ravenous, he didn’t touch the food nearby. He did take the tea however, muttering a brief thanks, as he focused most of his attention on his laptop and the information in front of him.

Most of it was stupid things but he didn’t delete any of the information from his mind, just yet. No matter how ridiculous it seemed. Some of it was pertinent at least. “John, see if there is silver. I want to see if it is actually a weakness.” He wasn’t going to assume it was or wasn’t and it was a simple enough experiment to conduct. He found it extremely unlikely simply _touching_ it would kill him. None of the lore he had read, had indicated that at least. It would hurt and possibly burn, from what he had read so far.

 “Do you really think a place like this would have silver?” Despite his doubtful comment, John went in search for _something_. If they were back home, he’d simply pull out his grandparents’ wedding bands, but life was never so easy and he had to turn the place upside down. The only thing that looked like it might be silver was a very old and lightly decorated chamberstick in a closet (maybe in case Sherlock knocked out the power?). It was tarnished and without knowing enough about metals, he could only hope it really was silver or at least silver plated.

“So far, this is all I’ve found but I don’t know if it’s actual silver. I thought maybe you would know.” He carried it back to where he’d left Sherlock and set it next to him with a frown. If Mycroft knew what Sherlock was, surely he would have left at least _something_ useful for them to use in an emergency, or for an experiment since this was fairly new. If he had, John hadn’t found anything else. Yet.

“As much as it pains me to admit, Mycroft is rarely so careless to overlook something like that. I’d say there is a high probability there is some in here somewhere. It’s just a matter of finding it.” Which of course, Sherlock was going to leave to John. He had more important things to do than to go hunting through the house looking for things.

Sherlock finally tore his gaze from the computer screen to look at the object John was holding. He reached out to take it and regretted it almost immediately. The silver burned into his hand and he couldn’t stop the scream that escaped his mouth, as he dropped the item to the ground as fast as he could.

He was breathing hard, staring at the palm of his hand that still smoking, as if he had just been burned…which he _had_. The tissue was red and blistered already, even though he hadn’t held the silver that long. “I think it is safe to assume silver is in fact a weakness,” he noted drily after the initial shock wore off.

John startled at the shout, nearly coming out of his own skin, and then he was rushing off to gather what he could to treat the burn. “Alright, no more of that…” John would keep it with him later, just in case, and then leave it behind when he was sure Sherlock would have control over himself.

If any complaints were uttered, John would simply ignore every one of them while he attempted to patch his idiot friend up. “Well, something you can busy yourself with now is to test if you heal more quickly.”

Normally, he’d swat at him if he ever caught wind of Sherlock experimenting on himself, but this was one time where it would be beneficial; if something happened, they needed to know if he would be okay or not. John didn’t want to be blindsided by a trip to the ER because Sherlock didn’t heal up as quickly as John would hope.

Sherlock nodded agreement. He would have to be sure to have all silver removed from the flat…if he ever got out of this cottage. The thought made him sigh. He let John work on his hand because damn it still felt like his hand was burning even though he wasn’t touching the silver anymore. “Normal wounds, heal faster. If I interrupted the literature correctly, which I am fairly confident I did. Wounds caused by silver last longer and will probably scar.”

“When I take damage in those other forms, I wake up fine the next day. Maybe a little groggy but that’s about it. And naked. I really need to do something about that…” Sherlock trailed off in thought and returned his attention to the laptop once more. He seemed to navigate the computer just as well one-handed as he did with two.

However, it made it damn near impossible to drink his tea. So it sat there the coffee table, getting cold once more. Sherlock wasn’t going to get anything in his starving stomach at this rate. He sighed, annoyed with his body needing nutrients but he kept going with his research. To him, that was more important.

“What constitutes a wound as normal? When is it no longer? When you’ve been shot and need to go to the hospital or just, I nicked my thumb while cutting the potatoes?” Every wound was different and every wound was the same; they were just as complicated as the complicated bodies they were inflicted on.

“How would you solve the nakedness the morning after? Or well, whenever you change back, conscious or not. You might not always be of the mind to carry an overnight bag with you and there’s no guarantee that I’ll be there for it all to help…” Which was a scary thought to him so how much worse was that to Sherlock? “And if you’re wearing something overly large, it might not stay on if you get annoyed and tear it off. That won’t help keep you covered if there’s a problem.”

John didn’t see how they would fix that part, or if it could even _be_ fixed. “Although, if this sort of thing is real, I wonder what else is…that would certainly make your cases more interesting. Or maybe Mycroft knows someone that could help with the naked thing…and possibly control if it seems you still need help with that.”

Although why he was bothering to mention asking Mycroft for help again was a mystery; Sherlock probably wouldn’t and John would try to work with Mycroft himself to help Sherlock and heavens knew that would probably start an argument between them.

“Anything that isn’t done with any sort of silver, obviously.” Sherlock sighed, getting impatient. “Do keep up John.” He was more frustrated with the situation that he was with his friend but he had a bad habit of taking his pouting on anyone around him. More often than not, it usually ended up being on the blond.

“I don’t know, that’s why I am doing research. Don’t ask stupid questions. Just let me _think_ without rambling on.” Sherlock was a shit friend, wasn’t he? Here the blond was just trying to help him and all he kept doing was snapping at him.

A glare was given to John at the mention of Mycroft. “I am _not_ asking my brother for help. In case you have forgotten he locked me up in the middle of nowhere without any sort of explanation or any really help except armed guards and an electric fence.” Maybe if Mycroft hadn’t just left him to change alone and in pain, he wouldn’t be so bitter. It was clear his brother knew what was going on and here he was in the dark and suffering. All those lives he took…maybe it could have been avoided.

His demeanor changed again, as his thoughts began to consume him once more. Sherlock slumped into the couch with a sigh. He didn’t know how to cope with the fact he was a violent killer and a dick of friend. Why was John even still here? The blond should just beat him senseless with the silver candlestick.


	5. Chapter 5

“I’m sorry my attempts to help is… I’m going for a walk a bit, Sherlock.” He did his best to mask his hurt as he stood and made for the kitchen, grabbing a water bottle and walking out. It was better to walk off his anger and frustration and hurt than to lash out at Sherlock. Probably throw something, like that chamberstick…but that would do far more damage to Sherlock and he couldn’t do that to him. If he wouldn’t fight Sherlock, even if he was about to attack John while…like that, then he couldn’t throw the thing at him.

John slipped the bottle into his jacket pocket and started eastward. He didn’t know where he was going or for how long, but they both needed to clear their heads for a little while before this got worse. He had to have walked for…what, two hours now? Or something like that. There was still no fence in sight. How big is this place?

That wasn’t a first and probably wouldn’t be the last. Sherlock was filled with even more self-loathing than he was already feeling for his actions as that monster. Apparently, he was just a monster period. He couldn’t even treat the only friend he had properly. He got off the couch, letting the sheet fall to the floor once more.

Sherlock searched around for the silver stick. He would deserve it. All the pain that came just from a single touch. What about all the torment he had caused? All the lives he had ruined because he couldn’t control the beast inside of him. Tears were in his eyes and he rubbed them away with the back of his hand.

With a feral growl, Sherlock went out the back door and went in the opposite direction of whatever way John had gone. He ran, faster than he had ever before as a human, and disappeared into the woods. The air was cold on his naked body but he hardly noticed. He was miserable and hurting. He sat down under a tree and was startled when he howled his sorrow to the sky.

John stopped walking after another thirty or so minutes, needing a break. At least this spot was on a hill and he could see a little more. Trees and grassy bills everywhere and he couldn’t figure out where the fence was. Perfect. He wouldn’t be able to do much once he reached it anyways…not with it live. John didn’t fancy dying because of an electric fence.

But he’d have to head back soon, he knew that much. By the time he made it back to where he’d left Sherlock, it would be coming up on dinner time and then…Sherlock changing and John hoping that Sherlock would control himself like he had the night before. Death by werewolf mauling was not an appealing end.

Anyways, that wasn’t why he’d come out here. John had simply hoped to clear his head, but it was difficult with Sherlock’s rudeness still making its rounds through his memories. One more thing he could add to the list of horrible voices to drown out when he’s having a rough day. Why did he always have to say such horrible things?

Sighing, John finally climbed back down the boulder, brushed himself off, and then headed back the way he came. The hope was, that he would be in a better mood by the time he got back, that they would both be more pleasant by then. 

Sherlock was cold even in the cottage so being out in the elements without clothes on had him shivering, but he hardly cared or noticed. He let his thoughts and grief wash over him yet again, burying himself in some leaves as a subconscious way to stay warm. He was practically buried in them now, only his head visible under the foliage.

At the moment, he was staying as far as possible, especially since it was almost nightfall now. Sherlock didn’t want John anywhere near him when the horridly painful transformation happened. With a whine, he buried his face into the red leaves he was using as a sort of bed. At least this time he wouldn’t destroy the cottage any more than he already had on the previous nights being trapped here.

Being out in nature and his body trying to protect itself, Sherlock ended up changing into the wolf again. Though he hardly noticed, far too lost in his thoughts. Unknown to him, he could shift into that form anytime, it was only the were form that came out when it was a full moon if he didn’t have control.

John showed up at the little cottage and frowned when he went inside to find that Sherlock was gone. Well, he’d been gone almost two hours so of course he wouldn’t stay here with nothing to do. John checked the time and went to the kitchen to slip something into the oven for them to eat, hopefully before the sun sent down, and then went to shower and look for clothes to change into. A near five-hour hike did not make for a clean human.

It wasn’t until he was washed—how do you pronounce that shampoo brand?!—and dressed in something clean—it looked like Sherlock’s and they didn’t fit the best but they were at least clean…ew he was going to smell like expensive detergents or something now—and then he went to pull out the small meal from the oven. It wasn’t much, just baked mac and cheese and then ham sandwiches, but it was better than nothing.

Only when he was sure he had a halfway decent meal made did he poke his head outside and look around. Sherlock. Nowhere in sight, of course. He tried shouting for him first, to see if he could at least make himself heard. If not, then he really would have to go looking for him…and the bad part about that was, what if he changed just as John was fining him or something? Sherlock would not be pleased.

John shivered and ducked back inside to look for his jacket or something to wear to keep himself warm and huffed when he couldn’t find much of anything useful outside of a sweatshirt. Wasn’t that his? He’d lost this thing months a go. He was surprised that he hadn’t found it in tatters, having been experimented on.

Oh well, it would fit better than Sherlock’s clothes, although he still slid the thing over what he was already wearing. At least he’d be warm. Grabbing a torch, he headed out again to try and look for the man, still calling for him as he went.

Sherlock perked up automatically when he heard his name called. His ears swept forward and he crawled out of the leaves, shaking himself off. It was then he realized just how much lower to the ground he was and that he was on four legs, that he was a wolf. A sigh escaped him but he didn’t know how to change back. Would he still turn into that monster now, if he was in this form? There was just so much he didn’t understand still and it annoyed.

It didn’t take long to sniff out John, especially since his friend was calling his name from time to time. He gave a yip, hoping he wouldn’t scare the blond before stepping into view. Sherlock sat down on his haunches, staring up at his human with his head tilted to the side. His tail wagged behind him slightly.

Upon seeing his friend, John beamed at Sherlock and rushed forward to him, dropping to his knees and hugging him. “There you are. You had me worried Sherlock.” Well, his friend was excited to see him, which was certainly something. So, that meant he was still sentient rather than the wild thing he had become the night before, that acted purely on instinct… A protective one. It was still nice to know that Sherlock would do that for him, if a bit scary.

But this right here? This was what he wanted. Smiling, John hurried his face in his friend’s neck, not caring if it got him dirty of not. “I made dinner but uh…it looks like you turned before I could get you to eat it. Baked mac and cheese and…yeah, it can wait if you want. Also, you have a smaller arse than me. Trying to get these on was awkward and I’m still not sure they’ll work.” He may end up switching back to his clothes if he couldn’t get comfortable.

But with Sherlock already like this, now what? Running a hand over Sherlock’s back, making sure to add nails for a scratch, John finally sat back to get a good look at him. “This is a good size for you…although if you were huge, we could get a fire going, put you by it, and then I could use you as a pillow. I might still try to bribe you for that.”

Sherlock rubbed and licked John all over at the welcome reception.  He seemed to be much more mild mannered in this form. He couldn’t talk back so he was just content to accept the petting and scratching happily. It felt so nice and wonderful! He stretched before coming to stand up. On all fours, he came up to about the blond’s hips. Bigger than the average wolf for sure but not the monstrosity he was in the werewolf form.

A bark was given before he began what he considered a slow trot, in hopes his human would be able to keep up with him as he led them back to the cottage. It was easy enough for him, even though he wasn’t familiar with the woods at all. His nose sniffed at the ground from time to time as he followed the scents of food. He would stop and look behind him from time to time to make sure he hadn’t lost John before he would keep going.

It didn’t take long for the cottage to appear. Sherlock started running when it came into view, and slipped in through one of the holes in the wall. He nosed and sniffed around for the crackers from before and ate them all noisily but he was still hungry! He gave a whine as he sat down, licking the crumbs from his whiskers.

John grinned and hopped to his feet, chasing after him until they made it back to the cottage. Only once they were inside did John leave Sherlock to fetch the snack he’d made earlier. “I’ve still got the food I made from earlier. Think you could stomach it Sherlock?”

Grabbing the pan from the kitchen, John put some of everything he’d made onto a plate and set it down where Sherlock could reach it. He didn’t join him until he had his own plate, and that found him on the floor next to his now furry friend, plate on his lap. Considering he didn’t have much to use for it, John made do with it and it worked, he supposed. He liked it but he wasn’t sure how well it worked for the taste buds of a…wolf.

“So the sun isn’t even down yet and you’ve already changed. I wonder what the effect will be when the sun actually does go down…will you just get bigger or…I don’t know. I guess we’ll see.” John leaned sideways and kissed the top of his head before giving him a light scratch. “Need another sandwich?”

Sherlock gave a bark at the question and once the food was placed in front of him, he wolfed it down. Oh, he was so clever sometimes. Too bad John couldn’t appreciate the pun with him. It didn’t take long to eat it all, his tongue cleaning the plate entirely. He gave a quick lick to the blond’s face when he was kissed and scratched in reciprocation.

With a toothy yawn, Sherlock did a few circles before he snuggled up close to John. He placed his head into his human’s lap, closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep for a nap. Once deep enough in his slumber, his form changed back to human and was once more naked. He shivered and shifted around and curling in on himself tighter in an attempt to get warmer.

John smiled softly and ran a hand through Sherlock’s fur, just petting him soothingly. Well, the upside would be that they would have this done and behind them soon enough and maybe Mycroft would let them go home. They needed to get home.

Only when Sherlock changed back did John carefully slip out from under him and kneel to scoop him up and carry him off to bed. The poor man had been through so much over the last few days, he deserved a good sleep in an actual bed. John tucked him in to the best of his ability and took his place on the floor by the bed, leaning against the edge of the bed so he could stay close to Sherlock if there was a problem. John didn’t think there would be but he wanted to make sure he was at least available. But he didn’t want to invade his space on the bed.


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock probably would have slept through the entire night if the change that was going to happen hadn’t jerked him awake. He didn’t have time to notice John or warn him of what was to come. He changed right there on the bed, barely having time to shift to his hands and knees. It cracked and creaked under his weight.

It would never get any easier, Sherlock didn’t think. He let out a scream as his body shifted and grew, hating the pain that came with this damnable transformation. The bed collapsed, and shattered as he got bigger. Once he was the massive beast, he gave a piercing howl to the moon above.

He had fallen asleep, head tipped back and resting on the bed—he would have the worst crick in his neck when he actually had the time to think about it—, but at the first sounds of popping and cracking, he did startle. John had only just straightened himself when the bed creaked and groaned behind him. That was what woke him the rest of the way and he hurried to scoot forward and away from the bed just before it fell, earning him a mildly scraped back. It stung a little, but it would have been worse had he not moved at all.

But that howl. The bone chilling, teeth clenching, muscle freezing from fear, howl had him holding his breath a moment before it came out as a shaky exhale. Sherlock didn’t want him around for the change and yet, here John was. He thought that because Sherlock had changed earlier that it would be fine and that nothing would happen.

Well that idea was shit and John wondered where his head was that he thought that that was a valid assumption. It wouldn’t be the first time that he’d think that everything was fine and then Sherlock would manage to prove him wrong. So, hoping Sherlock wouldn’t be too upset that John couldn’t excuse himself in time, John slowly turned from where he was still seated on the floor to face Sherlock and then pushed up to his feet. His friend was huge, frighteningly so.

Really, he wanted to assume that Sherlock would calm down when he discovered John like he had the night before, so he smiled weakly and mumbled an apology for not getting out of the way. His assumption did not stop him from edging closer to the door.

Sherlock turned his attention to John when he heard movement and noise. He stared at the human, inhaling the scent deeply. He let out a growl that probably sounded far more menacing than what was intended. He stalked towards the blond, intelligent eyes fixated on his prey.

Noise coming towards the cottage caught his attention. This time he let out a low, angry growl. Sherlock reached out a large furry paw to pick up John but his gaze was staring outside now. He had heard the vehicles long before they were seen.

Why wouldn’t they just leave him alone? Rage rippled through him. Sherlock let out a loud roar, warning the unwanted humans to stay the hell away if they wanted to keep living. He let out a snarl, his saliva spitting out from the action.

John stiffened at the growl. Great. Assumption fails again and—wait, what is he doing? John took a small step back and to the side, one step closer to the door. He couldn’t outrun him if there was a problem, but the point of John being elsewhere when Sherlock changed was to ensure Sherlock had a chance to get his act together before he found John.

He looked to the side when he finally heard what was pissing Sherlock off and groaned. Lovely. Why the hell would they come looking for him if it cost them so many men? They knew it made Sherlock violent when they came around and…he was going to have words with Mycroft…and then he would probably deck him when he was finished. Presently, there were more pressing issues, such as getting Sherlock to calm down before be rampaged.

“Sherlock? Sherlock.” He reached out and gently ran a hand down Sherlock’s paw, the one reaching for him. John needed his attention first, before anything could set Sherlock off. “Sherlock. I want to go out there and talk to them… I’ll ask them to leave your territory, okay? Do you understand that? You can’t hurt anyone…we defend ourselves, not strike first.”

He didn’t have a clue as to whether or not any of this was getting through to Sherlock, but he hoped it would. John knew Sherlock didn’t want to feel guilty about the murders and adding to the body count tonight wouldn’t go over well later on. “Sherlock, please calm down,” he soothed, continuing to run his hand over the paw. “Just breath a moment…relax.”

The hand on his paw caught his attention. Sherlock turned his massive head, staring at John for a long moment. He could hear the guns being cocked ready to use on him again. His fur bristled but he didn’t growl this time. He let out loud huff of air, clearly annoyed but seemingly pacified at the moment.

There was no way for him to reply, not verbally anyway. Sherlock glared at John instead and turned his back to the door even though he heard shouting outside. Why couldn’t those stupid human just leave him alone? To vent his frustrations he began destroying more of the cottage, what was left to decimate anyway.

Movement caught his gaze. Sherlock let out a low, warning growl. If they didn’t leave soon, whatever self-control he possessed at the moment was going to vanish and more people were going to die screaming and bloody. It appealed to his animalistic nature as a werewolf but John’s words played in his head again so he simply growled again.

John smiled softly and gave him a short nod, “Thank you Sherlock. I’ll hurry, promise.” With that, he scurried out of what was left of the bedroom and made for the door. He really wanted to stay with Sherlock and try to calm him down, but the man could bring the place down around them while John tried, and so he stuck with his decision to get out of here and make the guards go away.

Knowing that rushing out of the door could get him shot again, John only cracked it open enough to stick his hand out and wave it a little at them before slowly slipping outside. “You need to go away…now, please. He’s…I asked him to let me try and talk to you, to get you guys to leave, but he won’t hold back for long. Please, just trust me and go.” Because enough lives have been lost and John didn’t want any more taken over this mess.

 He was pleased to see a few back off and back away to their vehicles, but the rest either didn’t budge a bit or were hesitating with only a half step or two back. The ones who didn’t back down only tensed and raised their guns a little at the racket Sherlock was making inside. No no no. “Guns down! If you just leave, you won’t need them…” Was he going to have to call Mycroft if they didn’t leave? Would he even have time to do that? If they didn’t get moving, John would have to hope that he could get him on the phone long enough to call the guards off.

His ears twitched as he listened to the human voices. Sherlock was getting impatient, his muscles tense and body eager to pounce and destroy his enemies. If they hurt John… The thought made him growl low in his throat. An icy glare was given to one of the more obvious cameras in the cottage. With a single swipe of his paw, he demolished it.

The crackling of the radio could be heard, his ears sweeping forward to hear what was said. Mycroft had ordered them to stand down, so they began to leave. Taut muscles relaxed slightly, but they rippled anxiously under his furry mass. Sherlock lumbered out to John, inhaling the human’s scent deeply once more. It helped to calm him. Keep him focused. Kept him from being murderous.

Once relaxed enough, Sherlock shifted to his wolf form. He looked up at John, tongue hanging out and head cocked to the side as he sat down on his hind haunches. He gave a pleased bark, his tail wagging slightly as he stared up at his human.

The moment they all started to pack up and leave, John relaxed. Good, he didn’t need to call Mycroft; it was a relief, no one was hurt. It had been tense for a moment, while they listened in to whatever was being said on their radios and John prayed that Sherlock would stay calm and not attack anyone, but then everything was settling in. Their evening would hopefully be a peaceful one.

He tensed at the first sniff and then visibly relaxed when he realized what Sherlock was doing. “What, so, me wearing your clothes isn’t marking your territory enough?” John didn’t mind the sniffing and lack of personal space. If it kept Sherlock calm, then John would quell his fears with the knowledge that Sherlock seemed to want nothing more than to keep John unscathed, even in this towering and intimidating shape.

And when he was smaller, John grinned and knelt to gently scratch at his neck and then his belly. “I’m glad you’re happy now. I wonder what that was about. D’ya think Mycroft was worried about your behavior or no? I don’t know. I mean, I picked up on your behavior quickly enough, I would think he would have before I had and left us be…Just a little weird, unless he was paranoid. He doesn’t seem like the type.”

Leaning forward, John nuzzled him, “Alright, next time you’re a huge furball, I am definitely setting you up by the fire where I will use you as a pillow AND a blanket; I will not accept any arguments because just think about how warm you’ll be… Who needs electricity with a living space heater?”

Sherlock was pleased by the attention, rubbing his head along John’s arm in return. At the mention of Mycroft he gave a small growl. His brother was pissing him off more than usual since he’d been forced to stay at the cottage. Surely, he wouldn’t be caged his whole life. The thought made him whine.

He laid down, burying his muzzle into his human’s side with a sigh. Sherlock wished he could just leave now but he still didn’t know how to control changing. Right now, it just simply _happened_. Another whine and he belly crawled closer to John still, head butting his human in the chest gently before looking up at him with expressive eyes.

John smiled softly and gently rubbed along Sherlock’s spine. “How about I grab a blanket or two and bring them out here? The place is destroyed enough that I doubt sleeping inside will make much of a temperature and weather difference. Besides, there’s a little more room out here in case you go Hulk on us again.” Oh that was a good one. Maybe he should go with that one…

He leaned back until he was on the ground beside him; he may as well curl up with him and try to soothe him. John didn’t like how vulnerable this made Sherlock and wanted nothing more than to wrap him up and keep him safe until he was normal again. “Maybe your brother can find a way to fix this…it could just simply be a virus or something. Even you might find a way to keep you from changing again…if anyone could find a cure, it would be you Sherlock. If it never happens, I’ll still be here. I’ll do what I can to make sure you’re safe, I promise…”

The Hulk reference was lost upon him. Sherlock wasn’t cold but John might be. His oversized wolf form crawled into his human’s lap fully so he could keep the blond warm. He lifted his head slightly to give a lick on the other’s face.

A growl was given at the mention of his brother and he nipped very gently at John’s shoulder in annoyance. Sherlock stretched out his front paws as he got more comfortable in his human’s lap. He didn’t need to sleep after napping earlier and he was far too wary about the soldiers returning possibly. He would stay awake and alert to keep his human safe.

John really didn’t mind Sherlock sitting on him…sort of. As soon as he was on his back though, he planned to get the guy to move a little so that they were more comfortable. “Oi, bite too hard and we’ll both have problems.” But at least Sherlock wouldn’t be alone in the suffering. Maybe he could endure it. John nuzzled him a little before he finally did lie back on the ground. He patted his chest, “Come on now, please. That’ll hopefully make it easier for us to stay attached at the hip.”

The bed was destroyed anyways and the couch wouldn’t fit them both, so here was as good a place as any. Besides, even if he was a little grimy still, Sherlock was still soft and smelled halfway nice. His shampoo or body wash or…whatever it was…it lasted a while. Oh well, it was better to smell that than the blood. “Don’t be upset about suggesting that we ask your brother to help figure out how to…make this work.” Because Sherlock wasn’t something to be fixed.

He was exhausted and hungry and he really didn’t care about the hunger portion at the moment; John just wanted to sleep and worry about food when he woke up again. “But we can talk about it in the morning.”

Sherlock shied away at the mention of biting to hard. He hadn’t even thought about that. He almost ran away to be alone, just in case. He didn’t want John to be in danger because of him. And he certainly didn’t want his human having the same problem he did. The transformation were horrid and terrifying, though he would never admit the latter.

When John laid down on the floor, Sherlock shifted so he was more like shaggy blanket. He was at a slight angle, so his chin would rest on his human’s chest. He stayed alert, ears flicking from time to time at any little sound outside. None came from humans at least. Maybe his brother would leave them alone finally.

“Sherlock, relax; I trust you.” He didn’t want to change, of course, but accidents happen and… “Don’t worry, I know you were being a little silly.” John wrapped his arms around him, almost like an awkward hug, but it helped John to anchor his friend to him by carefully tangling his fingers into his fur. There. Now Sherlock had no choice but to stay close to him and any movement would wake him. John wanted to be alert too, just in case there was a problem and he needed to do damage control. He doubted anything would happen at this point now that Sherlock had calmed down and left everyone alone. Even still, he didn’t know what else was out here and— “Shit my bike is still out there somewhere…I hope your brother got it for me. Oh, and my things back at the hotel I had been staying at.” Whoops.

Sherlock relaxed against John as he laid on his human. He listened to the blond talk but had no real way of responding. He thought about sniffing out John’s things but that would mean leaving the cottage and having his human exposed to the dangers of Mycroft’s people. And there was the electrified fence that he’d rather just avoid.

A sigh escaped him. Sherlock wanted to leave this place but he wouldn’t leave John behind. He would protect his human at all costs if he had to. He gave a small whine at his thoughts, chin resting on John’s chest and staring at his human’s face. His tail would wag once or twice from time to time, as he waited for the night to be over.

 John stopped talking and forced himself to relax, closing his eyes and giving Sherlock a light squeeze. It wasn’t long until his breaths evened out and he was out cold. Sleeping down here wasn’t exactly comfortable, but at this point, everything had been chaos and he didn’t care too much; he could lie down and he could sleep. That was enough for him.

He didn’t wake again until the sun was starting to come up, and even then, he fought himself to try and go back to sleep. John really couldn’t get up anyways, so there was a good excuse, but sleep didn’t come back. Sherlock. Squinting his eyes open, John peered at his friend and snorted. It could be worse.

As the daylight came upon him, Sherlock got drowsy. He shifted back to human form, grumbled in his sleep and moved to be closer to John now that he was quite cold. He woke up shivering and with a small groan. Was…he human again now? He sat up slowly and when movement next to him caught his attention he looked over to his friend.

“Should be the last full moon for a while. I think it is safe to change into some clothes now.” Sherlock got up, stretching out his limbs before he moved to the bedroom. He picked out a suit but decided to take a long, hot shower before putting them on. Once he was satisfied he didn’t smell disgusting he got dressed.

“Perhaps we can leave soon and if not maybe Mycroft will send people to fix the cottage.” Sherlock walked back out to the sitting room and sat down on the couch. He picked up the laptop to continue the research he had started yesterday. He glanced up from the screen after a moment, to look at John. “Thank you…for sending them away last night. So I didn’t…” He trailed off and offered no further explanation. He simply returned his gaze to the information in front of him.

John didn’t have a chance to ask him if he wanted the ones John was wearing back, but he figured he would need to eventually. For now though, they were halfway clean and he would rather these than his others until he could get the mess out of them.

He met Sherlock’s eyes from the kitchen where he was trying to put together a breakfast for the two of them and smiled slightly, "You’re welcome. Anything for you Sherlock.” It meant that Sherlock wouldn’t need to live with the guilt of killing even more people. “So, what happens now? With the case you were working?”

“I don’t know yet. I haven’t even thought about the case since being bit.” Sherlock was trying to forget all about being that monster and figuring out how to stop it. John seemed good at keeping him calm. He didn’t like the thought of needing his friend to stay in control, if only because it put the blond in danger every time he was around when he changed.

Sherlock stopped his research when he heard trucks coming. His hearing wasn’t as good when in his were or wolf form, but still better than most humans now. “Someone is coming,” he warned John with a low growl in his throat. He wouldn’t change into that monster, would he? It was the middle of the day but he had turned into that wolf yesterday before nightfall…

“It’ll be one of those things where, unless Mycroft has a way of locking them up to keep them from normal prisoners, they’ll need to be put down somehow. And is it deliberate or are they out of control like you were?” And if it was because they didn’t have control, what would that mean for them because of the murders? And what would that mean for Sherlock? Yes, it was done on purpose and conscious of his actions, but that didn’t mean he had a lot of control over it. Why John was a human Xanax for Sherlock, he was unsure. Yes, they had a strong friendship, but for that much?

He still couldn’t fathom that much care. He’d attacked others that he thought were a threat to John. “Sherlock, I thought of something. What if they killed those people because they thought they were protecting someone? Like what you did? Maybe they saw those people as threats to someone they cared about, like a friend or family member or significant other…”

John looked up at those words and looked Sherlock over. Tense, territorial to some extent, angry… He moved quickly to stand behind him, gently running his hands through his hair. “Just focus on my hands for a minute, okay? If they mean harm or look as if they may attack, then we’ll deal with it, but for now, just my hands.”

Frankly, Sherlock could care less about the one who had turned him into a werewolf. That bastard could burn alive for all eternity and it wouldn’t be good enough. Sherlock was a bit a bitter about the bite he had taken to make him a monster.

The approaching tires got louder and his entire body was tense, even though John was trying to calm him. Sherlock was ready to spring and tear out some more throats. It took a moment for that instinct to startle him. He had never been so…violent before… “I…don’t think I should be here when they are here…” He sighed trying to concentrate on the hands like his friend instructed but his body remained tense as ever. He was scared, not of the people coming but of _himself._

Sherlock looked expectantly at the door when he heard the doors to the vehicles closing. His fists curled and uncurled. Very marginally he relaxed, they looked like construction workers. To fix up the cottage no doubt. He still didn’t trust himself. “I’m going to go out for a bit,” he told John before turning to leave and go out through one of the walls.


	7. Chapter 7

What was so bad about these people coming around? They were only here until the moon phase was over and then they were going home, right? What was wrong with Sherlock that he couldn’t relax around other people?

“Why? We’ll be fine…we can try and pack up to go and hope that Mycroft will hurry up and get us out of here—Sherlock?” His hands hovered in the air where they had been in Sherlock’s hair, but the man himself turned to follow Sherlock’s escape and watch him leave. John didn’t go after him; Sherlock obviously needed a little time to himself and John tried not to chase after him when it happened, even before this mess. That didn’t mean that he hadn’t, he had, but it depended on the problem.

This didn’t seem like a good time to go chasing after him; John didn’t want to risk pissing him off. Instead, he heaved a great sigh and went to finish breakfast, mostly ignoring the men who showed up. So long as they didn’t ask about Sherlock, John didn’t really care…

_[TEXT: The Government] When can we leave? We’re bored and Sherlock is on edge because of the people you sent in here. Also, I need my clothes from the inn and my bike. If you could find the time to retrieve both, it would be greatly appreciated._

Sherlock was a little disappointed John hadn’t come with him but perhaps it was for the best. He was terrified of the monster inside of him. Of the violence he was capable of. What if his friend couldn’t calm him next time? He could still hear the screams and there had been so much blood. Even though he hadn’t had any control, he could still remember what had happened.

Maybe he should just stay locked up forever. Just in case. What if he ended up killing more people, became a killer like the one who had turned him? Fear was not something he was used to and certainly not a thing that ruled his life, but it was creeping up on him now. There was just too much uncertainty. And he was used to facts and science, solid evidence. Now…everything he knew was _wrong_.

He didn’t get a reply and hadn’t expected one, but it wasn’t long until he realized that he was in the way. He was alerted to this fact when someone dropped their nail gun as he was walking by and it narrowly missed his head. That was his cue to leave.

John gathered food and two bottles of water, and then went chasing after Sherlock, hoping the man didn’t change direction. If he had, John would never find him. He might need to start calling for him. It only took a few minutes of wandering around, looking for Sherlock and hearing nothing, he gave in and just started shouting for him. He wanted to get some food in him, make sure he was okay, and see if they can help him keep calm when others come around.

Sherlock made for the woods like last time. It was almost instinctual to go there. They offered comfort, not the same way John did but it felt familiar to his more primal side. Would he change again? Hopefully not, he was finally in clothes again. They’d be ruined like the others if shifted into a wolf. He tried to will himself not to while in the forest, but he still didn’t even know how or why it happened.

His name being called made him perk up. Sherlock knew the voice immediately. It didn’t take long to find his way to his friend. “I’m over here,” he called out so he wouldn’t startle the brunette from his sudden appearance. He didn’t realize it, but he was far stealthier now than he was before even when he wasn’t a wolf.

“I come bearing gifts!” John smiled and turned towards his voice, changing direction to meet him where he was at, raising the food and water up when he got close enough.

“You ran out before I could finished making everything and I was worried about it. Someone dropped their nailgun and it almost got me and I figured that was a sign to come and harass you about breakfast.” Speaking of the builders.

John dropped down to sit with his back against a tree, patting a place next to him for Sherlock to sit. “Come sit. I have questions.” He always had questions. “Why did they set you off earlier? They didn’t mean harm.” Not on purpose anyways.

Sherlock smiled back, the wolf in him quite hungry. _Again._ The mention of John almost being hurt made him growl low in his throat though, eyes narrowing at the thought. He’d rip out all their innards if they hurt his friend! No…he couldn’t think like that… He had to stay human… His body shook as he fought for control over not changing. This time he won, but wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop it next time.

Eventually Sherlock sat down next to John. “I…don’t want to hurt anyone else…” He couldn’t look at John. He was terrified of the monster inside of him. What if the lore was wrong? What if he could change into that beast, even if it wasn’t a full moon? He was able to turn into a wolf during the day. He just…couldn’t trust himself to be around anyone right now. Maybe except John, who had a way of keeping him calm.

The soft growl led John to reach over and rub his hand over Sherlock’s arm. “I’m fine Sherlock; it was just an accident.” He appreciated Sherlock’s enthusiasm for his safety, but it was nothing to get so worked up over; he was fine. “Well, how do we keep you calm? Anger management or meditating or is there something else that would help keep you from growing too aggressive? Maybe even some sort of medicine to help you stay relaxed, but I don’t know how well that would work and for how long.”

He didn’t like the idea of medicating Sherlock for something like this. There had to be another way to help him. “I know I help a little, but I’m not always going to be around to help with that. I’ve got school and work and you’ve got your own things to do. As much as I wish we could be joined at the hip, it’s not possible.” That didn’t mean they couldn’t try, but what if Sherlock ever grew bored of him? Or what if John didn’t have that calming effect on him after awhile, because maybe it was like medicine and Sherlock would build a tolerance for him?

There were too many questions and not enough information anywhere to figure this out; they were blind. Maybe he could ask Mycroft to help them dig for information, if he wasn’t already doing so.

The hand on his arm was more than enough to keep him calm but at the mention of medication he let out a snarl. “I will _not_ take drugs.” Sherlock sighed, upset with himself for snapping at John. Especially with how much more aggressive he was getting. “Maybe I can try meditation or…yoga…” He made a face at the mention of the latter. At least with the former he could just escape to his mind palace.

“I’m thinking of just staying here. Away from everyone.” Sherlock didn’t expect John to stay forever with him. His friend had a life and future to look forward to. All he had to look forward to was being terrified of what the monster inside of him might do next. He would hate being locked up but maybe it would be for the best.

He stiffened, hand freezing on Sherlock’s arm for a brief moment before he gently rubbed again. “No medication, alright; I won’t make you take any Sherlock. Would you like me to do it with you? I don’t mind, and it’ll probably be good for both of us.” Heavens knew that he needed a moment to catch his breath too.

“Well, if you stay, then I’m staying. I’m not leaving you here by yourself. You’d go mad with boredom and probably find a way out in wolf form, despite the electric fence.” He’d done it before. “Honestly, that isolation could make you so much worse Sherlock.”

“Sorry,” Sherlock murmured when it was clear he had frightened John. He really needed to do better about controlling all this anger inside of him. He didn’t know where it came from, the monster probably, but it was there welled up inside of him and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep it at bay.

“Don’t throw your life away for me John.” Sherlock wasn’t worth it, or at least he didn’t think so. Especially not now. All those people. The screaming. God the screaming was going to haunt him forever, wasn’t it? He ran a hand over face, head dropping as his shoulder sagged. He felt defeated and helpless, neither which he was very familiar with. It was really taking their toll on him since he didn’t know how to cope with them.

“Sherlock, unless you’re rude, really rude, the sort of rude when you’re in a foul mood and say the worst things imaginable, or if you physically do something to me, you have no reason to apologize.” But he was forgiven; John would always forgive Sherlock, even if it took time.

“Throw it away? Throw away a career path for the sake of my best friend? Sherlock, family comes first, and I count you as such, I’m sure there’s something else I could do to pay my debts and contribute to the new living space instead. Possibly fill out paperwork or…something, for someone. I could do the filing. Or I could simply write. I do enjoy writing, when I have the time; I could make up the lack of my chosen career that way.” In this case, with what was now going to be part of their normal life, John would adjust to make sure Sherlock was taken care of; that was the most important thing. What was to stop Sherlock from escaping or hurting someone if John wasn’t there to try and help keep him calm? He’d been through enough without adding more guilt.

“John…” Sherlock trailed off. What was he supposed to say to that? He was absolute rubbish with sentiment. He wasn’t sure what he had ever done, nothing he was certain, to ever earn the loyalty the blond showed him. He cleared his throat, swiping a hand at his eyes briefly before he regained his composure.

“You mentioned bringing food?” A change of topic was needed. Well, at least for him. “I’m sure you will be pleased to know, that I’m _constantly_ hungry now. So, I’ll be eating more.” Sherlock smiled at John but it didn’t quiet reach his eyes.

John pretended not to notice the sudden change in Sherlock’s expression and voice. Sherlock seemed to be so guarded and sure of his control over his emotions that John didn’t want him to think that he was judging him for it, because John wasn’t. John loved seeing these short lapses of control, although, not when it meant that Sherlock was hurting for one reason or another, but John was thankful that Sherlock trusted him enough to let that heavily guarded wall down now and then around him. It was a good feeling, to know Sherlock felt safe enough to. Well, most of the time when this happened. For now, Sherlock seemed to feel like this wasn’t a good time to drop that wall, so John said nothing.

“I did,” he answered brightly, passing things over to him. “That will certainly have a positive effect on your overall health. Am I to assume that you’re going to be craving more meat? If so, I want to keep an eye on your kidney function to make sure they’re filtering the protein properly. Well, I probably won’t be able to do it, and I don’t know how well you’d take it if someone else came around to stick you with a needle. Perhaps they could train me how to do that, if nothing else, and I can draw samples every so often? I don’t know often we would need to test your kidney function, but I’m sure someone does.” He would be able to get food into Sherlock, which was enough and–

“Sherlock? I just had a thought. You talked about beekeeping once…perhaps that could be your way of relaxing? We could order a bunch of books and read up on articles online for you to know what you’re doing. And then I could do the gardening like I’d mentioned for when I’m old and retire. I could have an edible portion and then another section elsewhere for flowers and things for your bees. Then we’ll both benefit from our forms of relaxation.” John felt like mid-twenties was far too young to “retire”, but it would give him something to do.

Thankfully, John let Sherlock skate by on the topic change. There was no hesitation in taking the food and he began eating it almost immediately. “I don’t crave it, if that’s what you are asking. I just want _food_ period.” He frowned at the thought of being stuck with needles but nodded slowly. If his friend thought it would be a good idea, he would try and suffer through it and hopefully neither of the beasts would come about as a result.

Well, there was certainly enough land all around them to keep bees safely. Maybe. It would mean asking Mycroft for something and that thought annoyed him. “We’ll see.” Sherlock would have to think that one over for a bit, before making a final decision. He continued to eat, until there was no more food left to be had.

“Oh. Hm, we’ll figure something out for a new diet.” It could take weeks or months of experimenting until they figured out what worked and what didn’t. Pride would be what left Sherlock bored in the end if he didn’t just accept the fact that he needed help getting things outside of this place.

“Sherlock, we don’t know how long we’ll be here…you’ll want something to occupy yourself with.” John knew _he_ would want something to busy himself, and he didn’t have a ridiculous mind like Sherlock’s. “What else would you want to do instead? You don’t do well when you’re idle.”

“If you say so.” Sherlock didn’t really care about the diet but that was just John, worrying like usual. Honestly, his friend did more than enough for both of them most of the time. “I suppose you are right. I really need to finish that research first, maybe do a few experiments.” Speaking of… Sherlock stood up. “Give me a second…I want to try something…” He took off his clothes, so they wouldn’t tear or anything else during the change. “I want to see if I can shift on my own…”

Okay. So far he had successfully prevented himself from shifting into a wolf. Now he wanted to see if you could do it on purpose. Although, he had no idea how. Just think about it? Focus on it? It took a few minutes of pacing but eventually Sherlock got smaller, furry and ended up on all fours. He looked up at John with a big, doggy grin and gave a yip of excitement. He moved to his human, rubbing his head against the blond.

John averted his eyes when Sherlock began to strip, but then remembered that Sherlock had been naked most of their stay. He turned back and watched as Sherlock paced back and forth, trying to change. It didn’t look like it was working at first, and then noticed him slowly getting smaller. The snout appearing was the biggest change in the beginning, but by the end, Sherlock had a face full of Sherlock. It wasn’t a bad thing.

John beamed at him and scratched behind Sherlock’s ears, “Hey! You did it. Good job Sherlock. Handsome wolf, like it was ever a doubt.” A thought came to John of waking up in bed to a wolf sprawled over him. Or opening the bathroom and Sherlock trotting out like it was perfectly normal…oh please no. If he were wet, John was sure that Sherlock would shake the water off. “Can you change back?”

Sherlock leaned into the hand scratching his ears. He lifted his head and gave John a friendly lick on the face, his tails wagging excitedly. He was about to answer when he realized he couldn’t. That was annoying. He might have to find a way to communicate more effectively when in wolf form later on.

Right now. He needed to see if he could change back. Sherlock concentrated, like he had before. It didn’t take as long this time, and his fur disappeared and he ended up shakily on two legs. He was steady on them after a moment and he smirked at John, pleased with himself. “Yes, I can.”

John grinned and stroked Sherlock’s back until he changed back. Well, they could safely say that yes, Sherlock can change between forms when he had a mind to. That was good.

“That could be useful when you’re chasing someone down, or if you’re looking at a crime scene. You would have to make sure no one saw you in that form, but even still, there would have to be something that you can pick up on that you couldn’t find before this. This does not mean that you can run ahead. You already do that too much, and you will certainly outrun me like this. Do you know how difficult it will be to keep up with you…and it’s not like I can hop on your back like you’re a horse.” Although, he might be able to if Sherlock was in the large form that dwarfed John.

Sherlock shifted back to his wolf form while John spoke. He found he liked it better, especially when he was outside. It relaxed him and his mind quieted down a bit as well. He leaned into his human eagerly, expecting to be scratched or petted. He found he really liked attention while in he was in his current state.

A yip was given at the blond when John was done speaking, to show he had been listening. Sherlock then licked his human’s face before trotting off, stopping to bark again, and then going on in hopes that John had understood the message to follow him. His bushy tail wagging behind him and nose to the ground.

John shook his head, expression fond as he leaned in and nuzzled Sherlock, while his hands scratched his back and belly simultaneously. “You’re trying to be cute, I can tell you jerk…” Not that John cared. He was enjoying the sudden affection, despite the “dog breath” that was being smeared over his face. “Alright, if I ever wind up in the hospital for whatever reason, you’re posing as a service dog so that you can stay despite the end of the visiting hours…unless you plan on marrying me.”

He stood slowly and brushed himself off, following after him shortly after. “I wonder if you can change just halfway…that’d be odd; a wolf with human legs. It sounds like some weird sculpture idea. So where are you going?” Sherlock was following something with his nose to the ground like that, although he wasn’t sure what would be interesting out here outside of…rabbits? Or the construction workers.

Sherlock was sniffing his way back to the cottage. The smell of the intruders were gone, except for their lingering scent and he didn’t hear them anymore either. Hopefully that meant it was safe to go back. It was getting close to dark now, so they were likely done for the day.

All the holes were fixed up so when he got to the door, he sat on his haunches. When John was close enough, he pawed at the door with a soft whine. Sure he could have changed back to being human and done it himself but even in wolf form Sherlock expected his human to do things for him. He was hungry again too.


	8. Chapter 8

John hurried after him, trying to stay upright and not trip over anything because his eyes were on Sherlock rather than where his feet would be next. When he caught up to him at the cottage, John slowed to a trot until he stopped beside Sherlock, opening the door for him. “You have hands you know,” he mumbled, but he looked fond rather than put out.

“Your brother’s crew works fast…I’ve never seen anything like this be fixed up so quickly.” Because the place had been a mess and John really wondered how it had remained standing at all with what Sherlock got up to. “So, I thought we were after something more exciting than the cottage, although I’m not trying to complain.” He just hadn’t expected Sherlock to be so homebound.

Sherlock used his tail to thwap John in the leg playfully before trotting inside. The place also had new furniture and the kitchen had been restocked. Not that Sherlock bothered to notice. He went straight to the refrigerator and pawed at it like he had the front door.

A short bark, to get his human’s attention, was given. It was clear Sherlock expected John to feed him. While he waited, he nosed around on the tiled floor looking for scraps. He knocked over the bin, looking for food in the trash and not caring. He felt like he hadn’t eaten all day.

“Oi! Watch it fur ball.” John grinned at him and followed close behind, planning on getting something out, only for Sherlock to make a mess in his impatience.

“Sherlock, that’s disgusting and really? The place was all cleaned up and stuff.” John nudged him away from the mess, trying to shoo him. “Go lie down or something so I can actually put something together, or you can get it yourself after you turn back to a human. You decide.” One or the other.

**_Fur ball?_** Sherlock most definitely did not like that nickname. He would worry about it later. He was looking for food still, after all. Did John just try and tell him what to do? He did his best to roll his eyes, but it was a bit difficult to do in his wolf form.

There was nothing of interest in the trash he had spilled so he moved to the dining table, laying down under it. His eyes followed John, as he waited on the food. Sherlock was trying to be patient but even in his mellower and affectionate form, it was difficult for him to do.

“After dinner, you’re cleaning that up. Or, feel free to do it now while I cook something. It’ll pass the time.” John shook his head and pilfered through the restocked fridge, pulling out ground meat. A quick look through the cabinets for cans of vegetables, and John decided a simple vegetable and beef soup would be just fine.

He just hoped that Sherlock wouldn’t turn his nose up to it. "This shouldn’t take long, Sherlock, so please don’t make a mess in the name of boredom. You’ve got your laptop and the trash to clean up to keep you busy.” He was sure that Sherlock made less mess as a human than as he did as a wolf. Outside of a case, John didn’t remember seeing Sherlock ever go through the trash, not for food anyways.

Sherlock did not in fact change back to being human or even move from his spot under the table. He found he liked this form quite a bit. His eyes continued to follow John around in the kitchen. That got boring, so he decided to just take a nap while he waited for the food to be done.

The wolf was sprawled out on his side now, making small whining noises as his feet moved. It was clear he was dreaming about something. He was chasing something in the woods. It smelled so good! And he was so hungry! He growled lightly at his phantom prey, hind quarters twitching while he slumbered.

John didn’t notice the whining and growling at first, assuming that what tiny noises he heard were from outside. And it wasn’t until he started trying to put the soup into two bowls that he picked up on it being inside the house. He peered around until he saw Sherlock, having a split moment of concern until he figured out what was going on. With a snort, he pulled his phone out and snapped a short clip of him asleep and dreaming. He wondered if he should send it to Mycroft, as a show of Sherlock being harmless too, but then thought better of it. Sherlock would kill him and it’d be too much of a breach of trust. Besides, Mycroft probably had cameras everywhere anyway and saw what was going on.

Instead, he sent it to his student document cloud for safe keeping. If anyone saw it, they’d just think John was somewhere where the owner had a wolf or wolf dog in the house. Or that it was a video by someone else. He went to wake him but kept a respectable distance from Sherlock, just in case, and began to call Sherlock’s name, hoping it would be enough to get him. With Sherlock dreaming about chasing something and growling, John wouldn’t be getting his hands anywhere near him.

With his sharp hearing, even when dreaming, it didn’t take long for Sherlock to wake up. He gave a wolfish grin, belly crawling out from under the table and giving John a quick lick on the face. He smelt the food and it made him perk up immediately, a small a bit of drool falling to the floor.

A yip was giving, tail wagging as he sat on his hind haunches and waited to be served. Sherlock didn’t care what it was. He just wanted to eat! Based on the scent it was a soup. Beef vegetable more specifically. It was clear he had no intention of changing back to eat the food.

There was no way that he was letting him get into that habit. “Uh-uh. Human if you’re going to eat. Your only excuse is if it’s the full moon and you don’t have a choice.” He wouldn’t have an even bigger mess because of Sherlock.

A mess that John refused to clean up, which meant it would probably never be cleaned because Sherlock was certainly not a cleaner. Ugh, he’d end up caving in the end if Sherlock didn’t, because John hated messes. “And I’m not kidding. Human to eat, with a shirt on, if nothing else.” He shrugged, “And I’ll put everything far out of reach.”

A whine was given and then a growl when it became apparent John wasn’t going to feed him. Fine! Sherlock got up and trotted out of the kitchen, now simply not changing out of sheer stubbornness. Apparently, that hadn’t changed at all. He growled at the front door and then paced around the cottage a bit.

After a moment, Sherlock found a back door that could be pushed down. He got up on his hind paws, using his front to push the lever down. He nosed at the door until it clicked open and then wiggled his way outside the rest of the way. Once free, he ran off towards the woods looking for his own food to eat since John wasn’t going to feed him.

“Seriously Sherlock?” Ugh. Why couldn’t he cooperate for once? His stubbornness was going to starve him. Sighing, John gave up and put Sherlock’s portion into the pot, and then set the pot into the fridge. This left John to jump onto the counter and eat his soup on his perch. He didn’t know when Sherlock would come back, if he came back at all today or tomorrow, and he didn’t know what to do about the mess he had made.

John refused to clean it up. His first thought, was that Sherlock was being a selfish arsehole. John had been bending over backwards for him since he got here, trying to help Sherlock get through this mess. And he couldn’t do one or two things for John’s sanity?

It pissed him off. After a small exhale, John forced his irritation back and tried to think better thoughts about Sherlock. He was like this anyways, all of the time, why was he expecting Sherlock to change? Maybe he was the rude arsehole here, for trying to force Sherlock to cooperate. It was just food. He would not, however, excuse the trash and door mess.

Hunting did not go well for him. Despite his natural instincts and innate skills, Sherlock still lacked experience. It frustrated him but he had never been one to let anything stop him. It was just another challenge to beat, in his mind. However, he soon grew tired and bored of trying to catch prey with no results. With a huff, he curled up under a tree and took a nap.

The nap turned into sleeping several hours and not waking up until the next day. His stomach was hurting, he was so hungry. His stubborn pride stopped Sherlock from going back to the cottage for food. Once more he tried to hunt but it still didn’t yield any results. Clumsy footfalls caught his attention and a sniff at the air told him it wasn’t John looking for him.

His older brother’s men maybe? Another sniff. They had food! Wait…did Mycroft have surveillance set up in the forest too? Probably. The nosy bastard. Sherlock was hesitant to approach, still very wary of any other human that wasn’t John. But he was so hungry! He belly crawled through some foliage, hiding in the underbrush and watched the humans bumble around like idiots. He would have laughed at the sight, had he been capable of it.

Where was Sherlock? John had been waiting for ages and the man hadn’t returned. On the upside, he got a lot of the place cleaned up. Except for the mess Sherlock made with the trash. He wasn’t touching that.

But as the day went on, and Sherlock didn’t come home, he gave in. John grabbed a small pack, loaded snacks, water, a torch, and a few other things, and then headed out to go looking for him. He didn’t have a clue as to where to look, or which direction to go, but he had to make the most of it and try his best.

With a sigh, he started East, hoping that the nearly unexplored area would be somewhere that Sherlock would go. The man was curious, so it seemed like a good idea. John waited until he had gone about three or so miles before he actually started calling for Sherlock.

After a moment, Sherlock cautiously approached the strangers. They left food for him on the ground and then left, probably fleeing right out of the large compound he was being held in. It wasn’t any of his concern right now. All he cared about was finally eating.

Curiously, the wolf sniffed the food before he began eating. He made small growling noises as he ate, and it didn’t take him long to finish the food off. He was still hungry though… His ears pricked up when he heard his name being called. John? His human was far away but he’d be able to reach his friend easily in this form.

Should he even bother going? John was probably just going to yell at him again. Sherlock sighed and set off at an easy trot in the direction he heard his human. It wasn’t long before he could smell his friend, picking up a scent trail along the way. His nose was in the dirt when he finally came upon John. He stopped, head finally lifting from the ground as he looked at his human. His tail wagged a few times hesitantly, unsure how he would be received by his friend at the moment.

John sighed in relief when Sherlock came into view; at the sound of something moving in the woods ahead of him, he had initially tensed up. Smiling slightly, John dropped his pack to the ground and sat with it, pulling out a snack for Sherlock to eat. “You didn’t come back, and I worried…I’ve got water on me too.”

He patted the ground beside him, wanting Sherlock to join him. “You know, if you’re planning on staying a wolf all of the time, I’m not going to need to get a pet. I had toyed with the idea for a while.” He had thought about a shelter dog or a retired dog from the military. One that he could spoil rotten but still use for when he and Sherlock worked. While, he had Sherlock like this, there was no need.

When it became apparent John was in fact not angry with him, Sherlock trotted forward. He ate up the snack quickly and then placed his head in his human’s lap. His tail was wagging, eyes looking up at his friend as if begging for more food.

A huffing sigh was given at the mention of John getting a pet. There was a reason he hadn’t changed back to human form, but he wasn’t ready to admit that to himself just yet. Sherlock sighed again, this time at his thoughts and just decided to pretend it was stupid stubborn pride and nothing else.

John was just happy that his idiot—yes, his—was eating without John having to fight him to get it down. Although, he still wished that Sherlock would change back. John wouldn’t be able to be Sherlock’s hands all of the time; he needed to go back to school and work. John still wasn’t sure as to how that was going to work out.

He set out a little more, waited on Sherlock to finish that, and then moved to lie beside him, hugging his friend to him. Sherlock was warm and soft like this, certainly kinder—or maybe friendlier?— and John wondered how long it would last? Or would Sherlock decide to stay like this indefinitely and forget he was a person? Now he was just fretting over the ridiculous.

After silently chastising himself for being so worried, John kissed the back of Sherlock’s head, and then once behind an ear. “I think you’re staying like this because your puppy eye look is more potent…I’m on to you.”

Sherlock ate the food set in front of him eagerly before curling up with his human, when John laid down. His head rested on the chest, eyes half closed in contentment. He certainly enjoyed physical contact far more as a wolf than he did as a human.

When spoken to, Sherlock lifted his head and gave a wolfish grin before licking John on the face. He wagged his tail, causing a small dust cloud to sprout up but it settled quickly once his tail stopped moving. With a final lick, he placed his chin back down on the chest.

“I knew it,” he mumbled, scratching between Sherlock’s shoulder blades. “Arse…using what you’ve got.” He wasn’t angry about it, more amused than anything for the moment. Wolf or not, that facet of Sherlock’s personality hadn’t changed a bit, which was good.

“Anyway, what have you been doing out here? You were gone for ages and worried me.” Sherlock always worried him and John was convinced he would have a full head of gray hair within another year or two.

 If he had been capable of chuckling, Sherlock would have. He moved his eyes to look up at John when his human began speaking again. Of course, he couldn’t answer, not as a wolf at least. Was that his friend’s plan? To keep asking him questions so he had to change forms? Oh fine.

Sherlock gave what he thought was an annoyed look, though wasn’t sure how it would translate coming from a wolf. He stood up, stretching out a bit before he shifted back to his human form. “I do hope for your sanity, you don’t talk to all animals like that. Most of them can’t talk back.” He gave John a smirk.

The young genius was naked again and without the layer of fur to keep him warm, he shivered a little. “I was trying to teach myself to hunt and did absolutely horrid at it,” Sherlock admitted after a moment. The thought aggravated him and he sighed. He didn’t like things beating him. He would catch something next time damn it!


	9. Chapter 9

John rolled onto his back and tucked his hands under his head, deciding that being embarrassed over Sherlock’s nudity was not going to get him anywhere. It wasn’t helping anyone if he was blushing like an idiot. Although, he did sit up to remove his jacket and hold it out to Sherlock for him to use.

“I have animals, you have your skull,” he shot back in defense of his sanity. It was only fair. He did try his best to not laugh, he really did, but in the end, he wound up giggling over it. “I think, if I were in the same boat, I would do better than you, Sherlock. What do you think?”

He wouldn’t say he was stealthier than Sherlock, but he was certainly more athletic and patient. In most ways, not all. Still, John figured it would help in hunting anyways, to some degree. “I think I would do better if I were you,” he teased. “Is your problem the patience?”

Sherlock smirked as he watched John. “Oh, come on, no need to get shy _now_. Besides I’m not a bad looking bloke.” He took the jacket, even though it would be too small on him. He slid it on, the sleeves just barely coming down to his elbows. It would offer a little warmth, at least.

Being laughed at, earned a scowl. Apparently, he was only allowed to tease because when it was returned, it more often than not offended him. Especially when John did it. It always seem to hurt a bit more when it came from the only friend he had.

“I’m going back to the cottage,” Sherlock grumbled and didn’t even bother answering any of the questions John had asked him. He was going to go pout in his room some more. Maybe finally do some more research. He really should but…he had been putting it off. It was one of the reasons he kept running away into the woods as a wolf.

He sat up again and tried to grab his arm before Sherlock to get too far. “Sherlock wait, I’m only…” John watched him slip away into the trees, heading back home without John. “Ugh, why do I always step in it?” He couldn’t figure out what was safe to tease Sherlock over and what wasn’t. He thought something was okay, but it wasn’t.

John didn’t know if he was coming or going half of the time. And with Sherlock stuck like this, John wished it were him rather than Sherlock. He wouldn’t have wished it on Sherlock to begin with, but if it were John, he didn’t think he’d let any ribbing bother him about his short comings when it came to trying to keep up with his new life.

But that’s what made them so different. They were both hard on themselves, but Sherlock didn’t seem to take it well from the outside either. John still couldn’t work out when it was okay to tease him a little.

Sherlock didn’t stop when John called out to him. Instead, he just kept going. Once inside the cottage, he threw the coat off and laid down on the bed. “John, start a fire. It’s cold in here.” Except his friend wasn’t even here yet. He had a bad habit of talking to an empty room.

With a sigh, a blanket was wrapped around him tightly. Sherlock wasn’t tired so, he just laid there brooding for a bit. Only it got boring after a while. He threw the duvet off and went searching for the laptop. Had he left it in the sitting room last? He couldn’t remember.

He eventually came out of his moment of self-hate and forced himself to his feet. John cleaned up the mess first and then turned back towards the house, making his way there. The hope was that Sherlock would be in a better mood by the time he got there

John had gone maybe a mile when he heard someone talking and he stopped, listening. Two or three people, actually. Mycroft’s people? Surely not. They wouldn’t be this loud, nor would they be in here. He tried to listen to what they were saying, but couldn’t get closer without letting them know where he was. He got nothing out of it.

Hunters maybe? Can’t be. The grounds are closed off with a high voltage fence. Either way, it made him uneasy and he scurried back to the cottage, moving as quickly and quietly as he could until he was sure that he was out of earshot of them. Only then did he take off at a dead run, bursting through their door a handful of minutes later and shutting it quickly behind him. “Did…did you know that…huff…there are people…out there?

Something was wrong, but Sherlock wasn’t sure what. He was having trouble breathing and his head hurt. He had barely heard John come in, despite the door practically slamming in haste. He was on his knees gasping for air. He looked up at his friendly helplessly before collapsing to the ground, unconscious.

Voices outside were talking in hushed tones. “The wolf’s bane should have taken effect by now. He’ll be out cold for…” The voice trailed off. “Someone else is here…kill them if you have to, but our priority is the new pup.” A murmur of ‘yes sir’s’ were given and then four men burst into the cottage through the front door.

Mycroft had been made aware of the intruders when the cameras outside the cottage picked them up. He immediately sent in his people, especially after seing Sherlock collapse. How in the hell had these men…most likely more werewolves. Damn it. He had been hoping to avoid this. He gave authorization to use silver bullets and shoot to kill. Except for Sherlock. Preferably not John, but the older Holmes considered the brunette acceptable collateral damage.

John saw Sherlock collapse just as he heard voices outside. He darted to the kitchen and grabbed a knife, and then positioned himself between them and Sherlock. He was the one to be killed and Sherlock taken. So…more werewolves? John wouldn’t let them if he could help it, even if it meant he was downed in the process. Sherlock was not someone to simply be taken, no matter the reason.

John narrowed his eyes at them and was ready to take on whomever came first when more people found their way in, firing on the werewolves. John took that as his cue to drop to the floor and cover Sherlock from the fight around them. The last thing he wanted was for Sherlock to be hit. John looked up at the chaos around them. Mycroft’s men. Why were they just now taking care of these guys? He had words he wanted to share with Mycroft later.

As soon as he thought it was safe to do so, John moved Sherlock out of the fight and started to check over whatever injury had caused him to fall out like this. Nothing from a dart or something similar. Ingested then. From there, it was a matter of trying to take care of the symptoms long enough to get rid of whatever Sherlock ate, whether they pumped his stomach or waited until it passed.

Since Sherlock was unconscious, he didn’t move. Even when the gunfight erupted.

The Alpha of the pack smirked at the way the brunette rushed to protect the fallen dark haired pup. It would be _his_ packmate soon. And there wasn’t much the pup would do to stop it. They just had to get rid of this stupid human trying to stand in the way. Except more humans coming up loud and fast made him growl low in throat.

The unknown werewolf shifted to its wolf form, packmates doing the same. He was larger even than Sherlock was as a wolf. The fur was shiny and silver/grey. Like any well-organized pack, they worked well together and were able to take down the unprepared humans. There was a lot of blood on both sides, one of his packmates going down made him let out a loud, piercing howl of anger.

They needed to get the pup and get out before more was lost. A bark was given and the pack regrouped and began advancing on the human that had been protecting the unconscious pup that was rightfully _his_. No one would take the pup from him. Especially not some pathetic human. A low growl was given, teeth bared in a final warning to back off.

John stripped his jacket off and slid it under Sherlock in an attempt to elevate him; he needed him breathing more than anything. Grabbing a kit from under the sink, John did what he could to treat him, although this thing wasn’t really outfitted for ingested materials.

Still, he was at least able to check and listen to his breathing and heart rate like this, which was better than nothing. Not knowing what it was and with Sherlock knocked out, John was hesitant to force him to throw it up.

He didn’t know they had elected to ignore what humans were left and advance on him until John was in the middle of trying to wake Sherlock while checking over whatever else he could and heard a terrible snarl behind him. His eyes darted up, wide and scared. They had said something about pup, which meant Sherlock. They were trying to get him, not kill him. John couldn’t help him get away later on if he died now.

Silently admitting defeat, John bowed his head and sighed. John gave Sherlock’s hand a squeeze and pressed his forehead to his. “I’m sorry Sherlock…” He looked back up at the werewolves and scooted away from Sherlock, glaring daggers at them. “Don’t you dare hurt him.”

The Alpha snarled at the human again before tilting his head to the pup on the floor. The remaining pack members moved forward, changing to human form and revealing their naked bodies. They picked up the limp pup and then draped the unconscious body on his back before shifting back to wolf form.

The Alpha barked at the other two and they left the cottage, his packmates taking down a couple more humans in the process. They left the compound the way they had come in, which had been simply digging underneath the electrified fence. Once on the other side, they returned to being human and dragged the pup to a waiting vehicle and disappearing from sight.

John put a little more space between them, looking shattered. His friend was being kidnapped right in front of him, and he wasn’t stopping it, couldn’t stop it. He wanted so badly to be able to rip their throats out himself, tear every single one of them apart for daring to poison Sherlock and then kidnap him. They didn’t have the right. None.

The moment they were gone, John was on his mobile and calling Mycroft, giving him an earful before the man had a chance to speak. Standing while blessing him out wasn’t difficult. Blessing him out and holding onto a mobile while trying to help treat the fallen men, who weren’t dead, was more difficult.

What was the plan? How would they get Sherlock back? How did they get passed Mycroft’s security? Who the hell were they and why would they even want Sherlock? Was Sherlock going to be killed? John felt helpless. There was nothing he could do to save Sherlock, not on his own.

“I don’t care if you have to slaughter every single one of them, just get him back Mycroft. He’s your brother and my best friend…” And John didn’t care. For the first time in his life, he had never wanted to hurt someone so badly or have the desire to take a life.

Mycroft rolled his eyes at John, half tempted to hang up on his brother’s best friend. “It is being taken care of. Stay out of. You shouldn’t even be there in the first place. Go home Mr. Watson.” The elder Holmes did hang up after that. He had more important matters to attend to right now.

It wasn’t until several hours that Sherlock finally woke up. His head was pounding and vision still blurry but at least he was conscious. There were several unfamiliar scents around him and that jerked him awake a little more fully.

It didn’t take long to realize he was laying on a couch. A nice one. Someone who had expensive tastes and the means to buy it. He wasn’t restrained, that was a good sign…? “John?” He called out in confusion. Though his friends scent was not among the strangers he had smelt. His gaze shifted to the others in the room with him, eyes narrowing. “Who the hell are you?”

“Don’t be rude to your Alpha pup. We can do this the easy or hard way. It doesn’t really matter because you will do what I tell you to no matter what.” A smirk was given as the clear leader moved forward. “Now, _sit_.”

Sherlock stood, not intimidated in the least. At least until he had been commanded to sit and though he had tried not to he found himself sitting on the couch again. He frowned in confusion. “Who are _you_?”


End file.
